


Tell Me This Night Is Over

by Acherona, trulywicked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John is having a baby, John is sad, Johnlock - Freeform, Love, M/M, Mpreg, Mycroft is a snoop, Post Reichenback, Sherlock is clueless, chimerism, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:43:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 96,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acherona/pseuds/Acherona, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trulywicked/pseuds/trulywicked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's on the verge of dying from a broken heart when a fainting spell and a trip to the A&E give him a reason to live again. Of course it's just when he's accepted the new hand fate has dealt him when Sherlock returns and upsets the apple cart once more...He deserved the broken nose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> _This is a collab between myself and the amazing trulywicked. It contains M-preg so if that isn't your cup of tea you might want to click the back button now. Other than that we hope you'll enjoy this chapter._

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter One._ **

John sat in his usual armchair at 221B Baker Street, looking around the living room. It felt large empty and unlived in. It was like John didn’t make an impression at all, the other man who’d lived there had been so brilliant in every sense of the word that now that he was no longer there the whole flat seemed plunged into darkness. Hell the whole world had turned dark.

He had tried to move away, thought that it would make things easier but the truth was it had been even worse, being surrounded by strange things and old ghosts. If he was to be haunted then he’d rather be so in familiar surroundings, a place where certain things still smelled like Sherlock.

John was not doing fine, he was not well. It felt as he was slowly dying, withering from the inside out. He’d lost about ten kilograms in the two months since Sherlock had stepped off the roof at Barts and not even his fluffy jumpers were enough to hide it now. Nothing mattered, it really didn’t. 

Mrs. Hudson tried, she kept bringing up tea, biscuits and thick stews and it all just made John’s stomach turn. Mycroft kept calling but John didn’t reply, he could see the CCTV cameras following him the few times he stepped outside but thankfully the man had refrained from kidnapping him. John didn’t know what he would do to Mycroft Holmes if he would push things but it wouldn’t be something good. Not for either of them.

He’d been avoiding Greg too, still felt utterly betrayed by the yard. Logically John knew that Greg had tried to help, he’d called to warn Sherlock but it didn’t matter, the Yard had still turned their backs to Sherlock in the blink of an eye, pushed him to the edge of that fucking roof.

John was a soldier, he’d been strong his whole bloody life but now he didn’t have any strength left. His life had been over when he’d met Sherlock, by some utter miracle he’d been gifted the person who was his match in every way and now he was lost. There was no way back, nothing to do and no place to move forward too. He wouldn’t give in to the temptation of using his Browning, Sherlock would strangle him if he’d sink that low but it really didn’t matter. It was only a matter of time because John Watson died when Sherlock Holmes did, now he just waited for his body to catch up.

He winced as his stomach cramped again. It acted up all the time these days and when he finally managed to get some food into it, it only seemed to get worse. John rose from his chair with a sigh and cursed when the room spun around him. This was getting absolutely ridiculous. He didn’t want to go outside but he had to, if he didn’t keep his appointments with his therapist she had threatened to pull his medical license. Being a doctor was all he was now, even if he wasn’t working at the moment, John couldn’t lose that part of himself as well, he just couldn’t. 

Pulling on his jacket he grabbed his keys, glanced at his phone before leaving it at the flat and heading out.

Sarah Sawyer was walking out of a small cosmetics shop when she spotted the clinic’s locum, her ex-boyfriend, and now good friend hunching in a determined walk down the sidewalk. Every time she saw John it was like he looked worse than before and she hated it. She missed the cheeky friend he’d been before he’d lost Sherlock and she would just about give anything for five minutes alone with that incredible tit who’d forced Sherlock up onto the roof with her blind, jealous, completely insane theory that she probably seduced the Superintendent into buying.

“John,” She walked over to him and lightly touched his arm, “hey.”

Blinking up at her, John managed to tear himself away from the thoughts in his own head long enough to plaster a stiff grin on his face.

“Oh Sarah, hello, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.” He wrapped his jacket tighter around himself, attempting to hide his body, not wanting a lecture.

“Oh John,” she just couldn’t help it, she gave him a hug, if there was one thing she was good at noticing it was health at a glance. “You look almost strung out. I wish you’d let me give you a full physical. I worry about you,” she pat his gaunt cheek. 

“Not using any drugs, not drinking. I’ve seen what addiction does and I’m not going there.” He patted her on her back awkwardly before stepping away. “Just a little trouble sleeping and a very stubborn stomach flu. Don’t worry.” 

“I know you’re not on anything idiot,” it was a gentle scold, “and I’m going to worry until you start looking better.” She pinched his chin and got him looking closer at her, “I want you to promise me that if that ‘stomach flu’ doesn’t go away in a week you’ll let me give you a full physical, including blood work.” There wasn’t anything to be done about the trouble sleeping she knew and she also knew that John probably wasn’t going to start looking better but he was her friend and she wasn’t letting him just slip away without a fight.

John smothered his irritation, he had no right feeling angry at Sarah, she was a friend and friends cared. He wished he was allowed to just fade away in peace but even he knew that was not going to happen. He gave deep sigh. “Fine, if the stomach bug hasn’t let up in a week I’ll come to the clinic and you can give me physical.” It was easier to agree than to get into an argument and he would have a whole week finding a way to wheedle out of the appointment.

She nodded, “Alright then,” she fussed and straightened his coat collar, “I will hold you to that.” She pat his shoulder, “Do you have time for lunch if I promise not to nag you or were you heading somewhere important?”

“Therapist.” John made a face and scratched at his hair. “Sorry have to take a rain-check for lunch as well.” He really was sorry too, he would much rather spend time with Sarah, avoiding her questions than being poked and poked and poked by his therapist. “See you next week unless I’ve conquered the bug.”

“Hmm not important but necessary evil. Okay, you can call me any time you know and we can have that lunch.” She stepped to the side to let him move on, “Or you know if you just want to rant and rave without someone picking it apart.”

John missed having his rants and reasoning picked apart, it was just done by the wrong person these days. He nodded at Sarah, and said his goodbyes. Having only managed a few steps when everything grew wobbly around him and then the world went black.

“John!” Sarah was kneeling beside him in an instant, her phone already out calling the emergency services as she catalogued his pulse, breathing, and what she could measure of his temperature. He was paler and a bit cold, pulse was fast, breathing was steady though. It looked like a blood-sugar faint at this point but they’d have to make sure. She’d ride in the ambulance as his doctor since she wanted to know what was wrong and also that John hated having strange impersonal doctors poking at him.

He woke up in the ambulance, at first flailing and struggling before he realized where he was and was soothed by Sarah’s voice. Fuck! Had he actually fainted in the street, that was just pathetic. John blinked a few times and turned toward Sarah. “When we get to the emergency there will either be a posh git with an umbrella or a girl who looks like a model with a phone glued to her hands. They are demons and I don’t want to see either of them.” There was no point deluding himself that Mycroft didn’t know, his cameras and spies had probably caught everything before he even hit the sidewalk.

Sarah smiled and nodded, “You’ve got me as your doctor of record and unless they give names and IDs that match your emergency contacts or next of kin they can go piss into the wind, I promise.” As far as she was concerned John was now her patient and the Queen herself could not move her when it came to Sarah Sawyer and patient rights.

It didn’t take long before they were at the hospital and Sarah was showing her credentials and taken back to an A&E room where she could start looking over John. As the measurements taken in the ambulance didn’t put him in any danger zones, no special equipment was needed as of yet and so no specialists.

“This really isn’t necessary.” John looked at Sarah as she got ready to examine him. “There’s nothing wrong with me except for the fact that everything is wrong...You know what I mean.” His jacket had been removed in the ambulance and John did not look forward to having to take off the jumper as well. As long as he could hide no one would have to see how bad it had gotten.

She gave him a stern, no-nonsense look, “Suck it up John. You know I’m not letting you just walk out of here now, not after you fainted in the middle of the street. Now we can do this the easy way and I’ll be the one doing all of the exam and testing personally or we can do it the hard way and I get help in here. Your call.”

“Oh you know just how to sweet talk me don’t you?” John knew when he was beaten though, he really, really didn’t want any others in there with them. “I’ll behave like a good little patient. What should we begin with?” 

“Sweet talk doesn’t work on you. And to begin with, strip down to your pants. We’ll do the physical exam first then take fluids.”

Clenching his jaw, John pulled the jumper and his under shirt off and took off his trousers as well after having kicked his shoes off. He resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself in an attempt to cover up and sat down on the cot instead, his feet not brushing the floor as he settled properly. 

She didn’t make the distressed sound she wanted to when she saw how much weight he’d lost in such a short amount of time. Instead she just got on with the exam, asking him the basic medical questions about how often he had a bowel movement, how often he urinated, had he had any unexplained pain recently, how much he’d been eating, while she checked his heart rate, blood pressure, reflexes, eyes, ears, nose, and throat. She pressed at his lymph nodes, palpated his spine, checked his breathing. She nodded at the responses, everything in normal parameters for someone who wasn’t eating, “Okay lay down for the next bit.”

John did as she said, looking up at the ceiling as she felt and squeezed and prodded. His stomach was a little tender but between the not eating and the throwing up that was to be expected. It wasn’t as if he’d set out to starve himself, it really wasn’t. Just the stress and the loss and every day just dragging on and on without end...It made him sick. 

She worked her way down his body, pressing to check for swellings or uneven lumps that just shouldn’t be there, noted that when she performed the breast exam his nipples drew up and his pectorals were a little swollen but nothing excessive, probably water retention. When she reached his abdomen she frowned, his ribs were downright bony but his abdomen was swollen more than she liked. She pressed a little deeper and made the puzzled doctor hum, “I don’t like that. Your abdomen is too swollen. I think I may have to get an ultrasound in here to check for gallstones, appendicitis, pancreatitis, splenomegaly, cholecystitis, or abscesses.” She finished the supine examination and pat his leg, “Up on the feet to be weighed before I draw the blood and hand you the piss cup.”

“Is it bad that this is still better than those horrible dates we tried to go on before just admitting that there really wasn’t anything except friendship there?” John tried to keep the mood up, it wasn’t Sarah’s fault that John’s world had crumbled and she shouldn’t have to deal with his depression and bad mood when she was trying to help him. His stomach cramped a little as he got on his feet and walked to get weighed. 

She slid the weights along the arm of the scale, “No, it’s not bad. You’d already had your heart claimed though you didn’t know it,” she marked the weight down, sad to see that he’d nearly lost two stone. “I definitely don’t regret it, despite nearly getting skewered on the first date though. Okay time for the jabs.”

“Bring ‘em on and then hand me the piss cup. Really though, piss cup? Do you use that charming sort of language with all your patients Dr. Sawyer?” John smiled tightly. “I don’t regret it either and you have to admit that you will always compare every first date you go on to that one.” Gods he wanted this to be over so that he could get dressed again, he felt terribly exposed.

“Oh yes, absolutely memorable no one else will ever hold a candle,” she got the two blood vials and the needle and began prepping John’s arm, “And only the patients I like get the charm.” She slipped the needle in and popped on the first vial, watching it fill with blood, checking the color and consistency as it squirted in. The first vial was followed by the second in short order then she was sliding the needle out, dropping it in the sharps box, and pressing tight on his arm, having him hold it over his head as she wrapped it so he wouldn’t leak. “Okay, now I’m going to take these to the lab.” She stepped back and passed him a specimen jar, “and while I’m doing that you can piss in the cup and put your clothes back on. Since I’m running the test personally it’ll be about fifteen minutes on your own then I’ll come back with the ultrasound machine to double check your innards.”

“That sound so wrong you know and I’ll be fine for fifteen minutes alone, promise that I won’t make a run for it.” No matter how much he might want to, it was better to get it over and done with. It would be a relief to get to put his clothes back on though, he felt much more comfortable behind his woolen armor. 

“Good because I’d chase you down and I know where you live,” she picked up his file, closed it against anyone who might want to peek, and headed for the curtain, “Drink some water as you’re a little dehydrated. I’ll be back soon.”

John gave a hum in response and waited until she had gone before going about the never pleasant task of urinating in a plastic cup. He found a lid to place on said cup before he got dressed quickly, pulling his jumper on like a comfort blanket. Finally he did move to get some water before settling back down on the cot. It would be easier to show Sarah he had indeed drunk some than to having to be told again. 

He wondered what Sherlock would have said about being stuck behind some drapes in the A&E waiting for the doctor. John could practically hear his lover’s voice deducing and complaining and it brought a small smile to his lips before the emptiness hit him again, even stronger than before. 

Sarah had to intimidate a few lab techs before they let her at the machines but it was fine, it meant she was given space which meant more privacy for John in the end. As she waited for the machines to analyze John’s blood, she filled out an ultrasound requisition form and handed it to one of the residents who was being kind enough to let her do this, understanding about patient confidentiality and doctor protectiveness. Once the machines were done with the run and she had the results in her hand, a deep frown was creasing over her face. She started a secondary and tertiary run, one to double check the results she was looking at now and the other to check for specific medical condition.

According to the first read outs John had a high level of HCG in his bloodstream, too high to be normal. The only times she ever saw these levels on a man were usually when he had cancer. Because of the other tests it took her an extra fifteen to get back to John, an orderly pushing the ultrasound machine behind her as she clipped back to the section where John was waiting. 

“I was afraid you had done the running.” John still studied the ceiling as he heard the curtain slide open and closed. “That or that the umbrella carrying tit had gotten to you.” He turned his head to look at her. “There are fifty-seven stains on this part of the ceiling alone and for some reason a condom lodged inside a crack. I don’t want to know how it’s gotten there.” John took in her expression. “Oh, you’ve got your doctor face on. What’s wrong then?”

She shooed the orderly out and went about setting up the ultrasound before handing John his file, “You have elevated levels of HCG in your bloodstream. Combined with the swelling of your abdomen I don’t like the possibilities.” She didn’t spell it out for him, he was a doctor too and spelling it out would be patronizing.

“I see.” Yes John knew exactly what that meant. Wouldn’t that be a lark, surviving Afghanistan, killers and genius madmen only to be taken out by cancer? He eyed the ultrasound machine. “Why don’t we check and see what’s growing inside me then? Not much we can do before that.” 

She nodded, not really knowing what was worse. John dying from a broken heart or from cancer, both were too awful to really contemplate. She switched the machine on, “Alright, lie back, shirt up, trouser zip undone and pants pulled down a bit,” she helped him expose his abdomen then squirted the gelly onto his belly, rolling her eyes at his short yelp. “Oh really John,” she took the probe and set it in the gel swirling around to make sure that the picture was as clear as ultrasounds ever get. 

“Okay now let’s see what we’ve got going on here. Stomach looks alright, no apparent ulcers or lesions, spleen appears normal,” she moved the probe around, watching as John’s organs came into view one by one and looking over each one thoroughly to make sure nothing was abnormal.

John kept one eye on the screen and one eye on Sarah. He was grateful she had angled the screen of the ultrasound so that he could watch it too. Colon looked normal as well. Maybe his stomach didn’t have anything to do with the high HCG levels; it could be swollen just from the stomach bug. If he did have cancer it could hide anywhere inside him. John heard Sarah suck in a breath between her teeth and turned his full attention on her, it looked as if she had found something after all.

“What in the hell is that?” Sarah angled the probe for a better picture of the...structure, for lack of a better word, hidden a little bit behind John’s small intestines. Mostly empty space within what appeared to be an oval muscle tissue wall except for the little bean shaped mass inside the empty space. It didn’t look like any tumor or abscess she’d ever seen in her life. If she didn’t know better then she’d say it was a uterus but John was absolutely male.

“Again, lovely language and charming bedside manner.” John turned to look at the thing inside him, squinting to see if he could make something out of it. “I must agree though, what the bloody fuck is that? Some sort of cell cluster? In a sack of sorts? An alien? Just wait soon it will chew its way out of my belly.” It was crude and inappropriate but for the first time since Sherlock had stepped off the roof, John felt like laughing. Something was growing inside him and he would probably die but oh what a mystery. Sherlock would have loved it.

“Not funny John. I’ve never seen anything like this before, well not inside a man that is. If you were a woman I’d be offering congratulations.” She moved the probe up a bit, mostly out of curiosity, and proceeded to choke on air. There was no way, no possible way for that to be an ovary. And yet...it _had_ to be, it was a unique structure inside a human body.

“Okay now it’s you who’s not being funny. Breathe before you turn blue.” He looked between her and the monitor. “I am as you know, not a woman so we can probably go back to painful horrible death before offering congratulations.” John was a doctor, he had performed ultrasounds on pregnant women but he refused, absolutely refused to even take something like that into consideration when it came to his own body. It wasn’t possible.

“I know but...John the tertiary test I ran on your white blood cell count came back normal but your HCG is,” she waved her free hand expressively, “and this...John you’re a doctor, really, truly, objectively tell me what that is?” She pointed at the image on the ultrasound.

“Objectively speaking as a doctor from just watching the sonogram I would say that it’s an ovary, a textbook picture of one even.” He sighed and rubbed at his eyes with the ball of his hand. “Since it’s inside _me_ I’m finding it slightly difficult to stay objective though and I’m on a quick path of freaking out here, just to give you fair warning.” 

“Hmm,” Sarah printed out the picture of the suspected ovary, then slid the probe back down and printed out a picture of...what might just be an occupied uterus before she turned the ultrasound off. She tucked the printouts into John’s file. “I think that we should move this to a more private location, both because of the impending freak out and...well I think you should call your sister, see if she knows about any...unusual medical history that no one’s put in your file.”

“Great, that will be the most fun filled non awkward conversation since I had the pleasure of listening to Sherlock’s suicide talk. Fun, fun, fun.” John’s voice was laced with bitterness. “Do we need to be in a hospital for this or can we go home? If the answer is hospital, then go out there, find umbrella man and tell him we accept the offer of a private room. If the answer is home, then go out there and tell him to fuck the hell off.”

She draped her arm over his shoulders, “Home. I’ll go deliver the message then go with you back to Baker Street,” she squeezed his shoulders gently then slipped out of the curtain to find the ‘umbrella man’. She spotted him, and the woman with the mobile in her hand, and walked over, “You know you are not supposed to be operating that inside the hospital.”

“It is fine Dr. Sawyer, it is a special mobile, it doesn’t interfere with any of the hospital’s machines or electronics.” The man looked absolutely bored as he explained himself regarding his assistant’s phone. “How is Dr. Watson doing? We were quite alarmed to find out he had collapsed and been taken to the hospital, weren’t we Anthea?”

The woman, hummed with a short nod and continued sending out texts.

Sarah crossed her arms over her chest, “He’s fine.” She ran though people in her head as the suited man seemed to strike a bell with her, an odd memory shunted into the unimportant section of her head.

“That is good news. Will he be going home then? He has a ride with me if he needs one.” It was hidden but there was definitely relief upon hearing that John was fine. “Dr. Watson is so stubborn about his own health; I do hope you can get through to him Dr. Sawyer.” His gaze turned piercing. “Also know that whatever you are hiding from me now I will know it in about...oh an hour when I will have complete access to your files and Dr. Watson’s medical journal. Don’t play with me Dr. Sawyer. John is very important to me, no matter the slight disagreement we’re having at the moment.”

It was the piercing look that jogged her memory and rather than being intimidated she drew herself up, eyes flashing and stepped right into his personal space, “The bloody buggering _hell_ you’ll know in an hour Mycroft ‘Almighty Arrogant Pain in the Arse’ Holmes,” it was a hiss of deep hostility. “Access my files all you want, you can’t find what isn’t there and don’t you _dare_ try telling me you care about John when you didn’t even protect your own brother from a madman obsessed with him. I don’t care who you are, what strings you can pull, who you know, or what you can do, John is my friend and officially I am his doctor and I will see you strapped to a Catherine Wheel before I let you poke your nose into his life and screw it up any further.” She actually poked him in the chest, “Do. Not. Mess. With. Me on this. Because if you have ever, ever seen a documentary of a mother bear protecting her cub you can take this to the bank, I’m the bear, John’s my cub, and you are an annoying little jackal that I will happily send flying into a tree.”

Instead of anger, shock or even surprise a rather pleased smile spread over Mycroft’s features. “You’ll do, you’ll do very nicely indeed. John needs someone like you to watch his back. If you hadn’t been fitting you would have been removed, no matter what delusions you may be under.” He dipped his head to her and twirled his umbrella. “A good day to you Dr. Sawyer and when you do need me which you will...I’m only a wave away.” Mycroft waved to the security camera in the corner and walked away, Anthea following on his heels.

She glared at his back then turned on her heel, muttering, “Removed my arse you pompous, needle nosed twat.” She poked her head into the curtained off room, “Okay Lord King Tit is gone with his handmaiden texting away in his wake.”

John snorted. “Lord King Tit indeed, I can see from your expression that he was his usual charming self too.” He got up from the cot and looked around for his jacket, shrugging it on once he found it. “I’ll call Harry when we get back to Baker Street; I left my phone at home.” He stopped to look at her. “Thank you for dealing with Mycroft. I can’t face him right now...I just can’t, it would end badly for everyone.”

“No need to thank me. Oh someone needs to kick his pointy nose in, they really do.” She walked with him out of the hospital, heading for the street to catch a cab.

“I did punch him in the mouth but you’re right, a foot to the face sounds brilliant.” John followed her, amazed when she just like Sherlock got a cab right away. He always had to wait and flail for a long time before a cab stopped for him. They got in the cab, John still feeling slightly dizzy and a lot upset. What did he have inside him? If it was what it looked like then what would that mean? What would happen then? Christ, he wasn’t sure he could deal with this.

She let him stew and think on the way to Baker Street, the file tucked securely to her side. She’d be keeping everything in hardcopy for a while, no electronic records, and keeping them with her. Part of that was the confidentiality of a doctor and a patient, part of it was her friendship with John, but the largest part was just wanting to thwart the tit.

The cab rolled to a stop and she paid it and walked with John up to 221b, “You should probably call your therapist and let her know you had a medical emergency that kept you from making the appointment.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” John grimaced. “I wouldn’t step foot in there if she didn’t threaten to pull my license. Can I refer her to you if she doesn’t believe me? She’ll probably just say it’s my trust issues ruling my brain again.” He reached for his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found his therapist’s number. “Make yourself at home, I don’t think there’s much edible in the kitchen but there should be tea...I think.”

She shook her head, “If not I’ll call for some take away, something light and of course you can refer her to me.” She pat him on the shoulder and listened as he spoke to his therapist while she rummaged for the makings for tea and came up with nothing. She pulled out her own phone and made an order for simple sandwiched from the shop below then came back out into the living room to sit on the couch as John ended the call. “I called down to Speedy’s, just simple chicken sandwiches and some ginger tea.” She set the file down on the table, opening it to the ultrasound pictures, “So...”

“Yes, so...” John looked at the pictures, trying to see something else in them but he couldn’t come up with anything. He reached for his laptop, only hesitating slightly before opening it, he hadn’t used it since he’d posted the last post on his blog, about always believing in Sherlock. Opening his browser he searched for ultrasound images of ovaries and foetuses at about eight weeks. “Fuck, fuckity fuck....”

“Mmmhmm,” Sarah nodded, “I’d say that about sums it up. Speaking of, was it Sherlock?”

“What?” John looked up from where he had stuffed his head between his knees so he wouldn’t pass out again. “Of course it was Sherlock? Who else would it be? I don’t really go on the prowl offering up my bum to random men.”

“No I didn’t think you did but it pays to make sure,” she reached over and pat his knee, “So, eight weeks?” She nodded at the search term for the ultrasounds.

“Eight weeks, rather precisely eight weeks in fact.” John nodded. “We always used protection, even though we were both safe...That night, it was crazy, we were on the run from the police, the whole Richard Brook affair. It happened and it was...I can’t explain how it was and the next day he stepped off the roof.” John looked absolutely wrecked.

She moved the file and the laptop out of the way and pulled him into a hug, “Saying I’m sorry doesn’t do anything, but I am so so sorry John and I could honestly slap the people responsible for driving him up there and not just because of what this is putting you through. He didn’t deserve any of that.”

“No he didn’t. Sherlock never pretended to be anyone except for he he was. He didn’t look for fame or recognition. I knew the press would turn on him eventually...I knew it and I told him but I never thought it would become that bad. I hate them; I hate them for what they wrote. I hate motherfucking Moriarty for existing and I hate, hate, hate Sally Donovan for pushing and pushing those lies just because Sherlock didn’t fit her norm of what a person should be like. It hurts, it hurts all the time and I can’t breathe.”

“I could slap her,” Sarah hugged him tighter, “I could honestly slap her for you and for Sherlock, I might very well do that if I wind up seeing her.”

“Get in line; I’d like to do worse things than slap her.” John was disappointed in Greg and pissed at Mycroft but he truly, honestly hated Donovan. He was afraid of what would happen if he saw her. John leaned his head on Sarah’s shoulder. “I need to call Harry don’t I?”

She nodded, “We need to know how this is possible, how it happened, if it is what we suspect it is. Once we know that, we can go from there.”

John heaved a deep sigh and reached for his phone. “Well it’s only early afternoon, with any luck she won’t be completely drunk off her arse yet.” He pressed her number and waited for Harry to pick up.

“Mm ‘Lo?” Harry’s voice was a bit muffled but clear, no slurring or obvious signs of being intoxicated. More like she’d just been woken up.

“Harry? It’s John. I really need to talk to you about something important. Can we do it now or is it a bad time?” John hated how nervous he sounded.

“Johnny? Yeah sure, ‘m not goin anywhere. Head hurts too much to move.” She was suffering from a hangover, not completely clear headed but not stupid with drink. “Whatcha need to talk about?”

Great, well at least a hangover wasn’t as bad as roaring drunk. “Um...This might sound really strange but did Mum and Dad ever talk about me when I was little or before I was born? I mean that there was something strange, medically? Something that you noticed?”

Harry made a thoughtful sound, “I don’t think so. Just the old joke Aunt Nelly used to make, about how you weren’t twins. I mean i remember early on how Mum was all worried cause the doctor told her he saw two but then just you were born so he was wrong wasn’ he?”

“Twins?” John swallowed and looked over at Sarah, having the speaker function on so she could hear as well. Twins, that could explain it, if his twin had been female and he’d absorbed her, at least her cells into him that they’d merged to one being. “Yeah, wrong...Only me.” His voice sounded choked even to himself.

“John?” Harry sounded much more awake now, “Is something wrong? Do you need me to come down? Up...whatever direction London is in?”

He ran a tired hand over his face. “No..Yes...I don’t know. Maybe you should come, there are some things you should know.”

“But you don’t know,” Harry’s voice was half confused, half resigned, “Why don’t you sleep on it and then call me when you wake up and let me know if you need me there...or want me there.”

“Okay.” John wasn’t sure he wanted her there and part of him was glad she’d declined coming over. “Things usually turned ugly very quickly when he and Harry was concerned. He did love her but he wasn’t sure he liked her and he’d had enough of cleaning up her messes. “Thank you for answering and for telling me what you know about my crazy questions. I’ll call you tomorrow...Take care.” He ended the call and leaned his head back against the wall. “If by some insane chance I am pregnant...some sort of he/she freak inside then I don’t want it to get out. I can’t handle becoming some sort of media circus. The pregnant man...You know how they jump on that sort of thing...Imagine how it will be when it’s me, if they were to find out that it was Sherlock’s child. I can’t do that...Oh God I can’t do _this_. He began to hyperventilate.

“John,” Sarah put her hand on his back and guided him into a different posture, one that would help ease his breathing, she kept her voice firm and calm, “Stop. Just breathe, in through the nose, out slowly through the mouth,” she dictated him through the calming breathing, rubbing his back softly, “That’s it, just breathe.” Once he wasn’t the color of milk any longer and was breathing easily, she met his eyes.

“Now you know you have options John but let’s take this one thing at a time. First I want to confirm whether or not you might have chimerism. Is there a black light anywhere in the flat?”

“Yes, Sherlock’s room.” It had been their room but John couldn’t sleep there now, not in the bed he had shared with Sherlock. “I think he nicked it from the Yard to be honest. Wait here, I’ll go get it.” He got up from the couch and walked to the bedroom, stopping in the middle of the floor and looked around. He reached for the bed and picked up a discarded shirt, bringing it to his face, trying to smell any trace of Sherlock on it. “Fuck you, you utter bastard. How could you leave me like this. I need you...I’m drowning here.” John dropped the shirt and pressed the balls of his hands against his eyes to stop the tears, he couldn’t cry now. Once he’d gotten a better hold of himself he got the black light and the orange tinted glasses and walked back to the living room.

She took the light and the glasses and made the universal gesture for ‘turn around’ before gently pulling his sweater up, exposing his back. She switched on the light and breathed out slowly at the mottled almost tiger like stripes that appeared under the black light’s glow. The Blaschko lines, tell tale proof visible only under black light, or if some sort of disease forced the skin to react badly. She gently settled his sweater back into place and nudged him back down onto the couch, setting the light and glasses down before nodding at him, “Blaschko lines. Call yourself a freak John and I’ll smack you on the head clear?” She leveled a serious look at him, taking his hand a squeezing it comfortingly.

“Alright, we know for sure that you’ve got chimerism now. We are...relatively safe in assuming that you might be pregnant so it’s best to operate on the assumption that you are until we can get you an MRI scan from someone who’d keep it secret. Breathe,” it was a warning when it looked as if he’d start panicking again, “Assuming that you are pregnant, you have a few options. Though there are really two main options at this point. You can abort, which medically speaking might be safest as we have no idea how your body would handle a pregnancy or even if it’s capable of carrying to full term. Or you could attempt to complete the pregnancy, during which I would be haunting you like an annoying spectre to make sure you ate, took vitamins, had weekly check-ups, and remained in the best health possible.”

John was silent, concentrating on his breathing as Sarah had told him too. He was in such a messed up place right now. Alone and hurting so much. Just this very morning he’d just quietly waited to die. The best thing would probably be to abort the foetus. He knew that, as a doctor that was the safest and perhaps even the right thing to do. Everything inside him rebelled against the thought though. No matter how it had happen, no matter what sort of genetic freak he indeed was, he might be carrying a child inside him. A child that was part him and part Sherlock...Sherlock was gone, dead. John would never get to hold him, kiss him or tell him that he loved him again but he could have a chance to love their child. Raise him or her and tell them all about what a brilliant and wonderful person their father had been. 

“I can’t terminate it Sarah, that is not an option. It’s a part of Sherlock.” Still in a daze, shock even, John’s hand want to his slightly swollen stomach, cupping it. “I choose you haunting me, for the little cluster inside me I promise to take better care of myself. For this...I want to live. This child will need me just I need it. We can survive together.” John wasn’t aware that he was crying until he felt tears drip on the hand placed on his stomach.

She, being the prepared sort, pulled her handkerchief out of her purse and passed it to him, speaking softly, “Then I’ll help you try. See what favors I can pull to get a secret MRI because a regular ultrasound is not going to cut the mustard for complete confirmation and we need to know the structure to see how much surgery you’ll be needing for a birth.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders in a hug he could choose to pull away from or turn into. This was absolutely going to be the highest risk pregnancy she’d ever watched over, if it really was a pregnancy. She was almost completely certain it was but until they could get the MRI, you never knew about the human body.

John wrapped his arms around her and hugged back, needing the comfort and contact of and another human being. He was overwhelmed and so very fractured, like a cracked glass sculpture, one single touch in the wrong place and he would shatter completely. “I think I know someone who could help us get an MRI on the downlow. Her name is Molly Hooper, she’s the pathologist at B-Barts.” John hadn’t stepped a foot near Barts since that day but aside from asking Mycroft, John couldn’t think of anyone else who could help him.

Sarah ran her hand over his cropped hair soothingly, “Okay, we’ll see if we can talk her into it but keep things as vague as we can. I don’t know if King Tit could bully her into sharing or not.” She looked up as a soft knock came on the door, quickly flipping John’s file shut as it opened and she saw Mrs. Hudson step in, carrying a tray.

“John dear, oh,” the older woman’s eyes went soft and sympathetic when she saw John’s tear wet face and she came over to set the tray, with the bag from Speedy’s and tea, on the coffee table. One hand gently fussed, smoothing down his hair, “Are you alright dear?”

“Not even in the slightest Mrs. Hudson.” John gave her a shaky tear streaked smile. “For the first time though, I think that I might, perhaps get there. One day at the time eh?” He turned so he could wrap the tiny woman in a hug too, Mrs. Hudson had been so good to him and he had treated her, well not bad but not nice either. Mostly he had just ignored her the same way he’d shut out the rest of the world.

“Oh you dear,” she pat him on the back, “Yes, one day at a time. You’ll get there and you’ll have people there to help. Like Ms. Sawyer here and me of course.” 

Sarah exchanged a smile with the older woman and began to pull out and unwrap the sandwiches. 

“Dr. Sawyer, Mrs. Hudson.” John corrected gently. “Let’s not forget the Dr.” He disliked it, probably beyond reason to be called Mr. Watson, Mr. Watson had been his father and he didn’t want anything in common with that man. He had worked his entire life to become Dr. Watson, Captain Watson, anything but mister. John took a step back and sat down on the couch, accepting one of the sandwiches gingerly, his stomach already twisting in discomfort. If he was going to take better care of himself, for the baby he was now almost sure was there, then he’d better start now.

“Oh of course, sorry dear.”

“It’s alright, thank you for bringing the sandwiches and tea up. How much do I owe-”

“Oh now don’t you worry about that dear,” she pat Sarah on the head, “Mr. Chattergee and I have an agreement, he makes sandwiches for me and John and I don’t tell his wives about each other. Now I’ll just be downstairs if you need help with anything.”

Sarah’s lips twitched as she watched Mrs. Hudson bustle off, “Wives...how many does he have?”

“Oh, three so far, according to Sherlock’s deductions. Mrs. Hudson was at risk to become the third one for a while there until she almost beat him to death with his own sandwich fillings. Now they have an _understanding_ and Mr. Chattergee found some poor librarian in Cardiff to make Mrs. Chattergee number three.” John took a bite of his sandwich and followed it by a sip of tea.

She picked up her own sandwich, “Intrigue at Baker Street as usual.” She nibbled, “You’ve a shift at the clinic tomorrow. I’d tell you not to come in,” off his look she held up a finger, “Let me finish. _But_ , not only do I know that simply won’t happen, it’s the easiest way to get you the prenatal vitamins as well as other subterfuge.” She took a drink of tea, “Speaking of, how much hope do we have of keeping this from King Tit for very long if I keep your file on me and only update via hard-copy?”

John made a considering hum. “Not much hope I’m afraid. If we’re being very sneaky and careful...Perhaps a month, two if we’re being absolutely paranoid. Mycroft has eyes and ears everywhere, not just electronic kinds.” John sighed. “He will find out sooner rather than later I’m afraid, it’s getting him to stay away and not take over that’s going to be a challenge.” Something flashed in John’s eyes. Mycroft was not going to get his hands on John’s baby, absolutely not.

“Oh I dare him to try,” Sarah’s voice was soft and irritable, “We’ll be sneaky and careful, avoid the paranoid since that’s too much stress, and that’s just because I really want to stick it to him in some way. He had the _nerve_ to say he’d know what I was keeping from him in an hour. So I am all for keeping him and his needle-nose out of it as long as possible.” That flash in John’s eyes gave her hope, it was a battle light, one that had been missing for two months and it was so very, very welcome. 

John scoffed. “Yeah that sounds like him, humble and charming as usual. We’ll do what we can and kick him in the bollocks if he doesn’t back off.” Despite the strangeness and arrogance of the older Holmes brother, John had trusted him. Trusted him to actually care about Sherlock and what happened to him. He felt so betrayed by Mycroft’s actions and even more because the older man couldn’t even admit that he had made a mistake, a mistake that had cost them Sherlock. 

“Works very well for me. Is it incredibly petty for me to already loathe his little handmaiden? Typing away on that bloody mobile in the hospital and not even bothering to look the least bit sincere when humming her ‘concern’ for you,” the fact that the woman had been exceptionally well proportioned might have also been a factor but it was secondary to the lack of concern. “No, don’t answer that. Is _is_ petty but I don’t mind being petty in this case.”

“Feel free to be as petty as you like. Anthea is Mycroft’s shadow, I have not seen her without that phone in her hands even once nor have I heard her express a single thought of her own. She probably has them but Mycroft has trained her well.” John forced himself to finish his sandwich, his stomach grumbling from the strange sensation of having food in it once again. 

Sarah gave a soft laugh. “Petty it is then,” she pat his knee, “Alright Dr. Watson, time to make a grocery list and discuss when you want to get in touch with Dr. Hooper to sneaky out an MRI and then you and I are going to the Tesco to pick up food for you.”

“Very well Dr. Sawyer.” John nodded his head. “I would like to contact Molly as soon as possible actually; I want that MRI done so we can start planning accordingly.” He used the word we because he knew that he would be leaning rather heavily on Sarah the coming months. With him not talking to Greg, she was both his doctor and the closest friend he had. John felt anxious about contacting Molly; she had been Sherlock’s friend. Always friendly and nice but John had still never gotten very close with her. He knew that she really, truly had been in love with Sherlock and after the two of them got together; John had always felt the slightest bit uncomfortable in Molly’s company.

“Alright, in person or phone call?” Sarah whipped out a pad and pen and began writing down a few necessities; ginger tea, saltines, and bread were top of the list.

“Oh God...Phone call first. I really don’t want to go down to Barts before I have to.” John swallowed loudly. “Besides I think it might be easier, asking a favor over the phone. If she feels uncomfortable doing it then that will be it, no awkwardness face to face and we will look elsewhere.” 

“Alright, you want to call now and see if she’s alright with it? Try to schedule it for the day after tomorrow?”

“Yeah, alright.” John licked his lips nervously and reached for his phone once more. God before this day was over he would have spoken to more people than in the last couple of months combined. He looked up Molly’s number and hoped that she would answer. 

After a couple of rings, her cheerful voice answered, “Hello, Molly here. Who’s calling?”

“Hello Molly, it’s John...” He paused uncertainly, this was so difficult, what was he supposed to say really. “I hope you’re well...I’m calling because, because I could really, really need your help with something.” 

Molly’s voice went from cheerful right to serious, “What do you need?” She’d been in love with Sherlock, still was a bit, she’d never deny that. But Sherlock had chosen John and she’d always wanted Sherlock to be happy more than she wanted him to be with her. She still felt guilty knowing he was alive while John was left floundering because she knew how she’d have felt in his shoes. If he needed her help, he’d get it, no questions asked just as Sherlock would have because helping John meant helping Sherlock even if John didn’t know that.

“I need access to an MRI machine, no one can know, that is very important. Not a soul can know. I know it is a lot to ask and I understand if you’re not comfortable with this.” John was babbling slightly, feeling bad that the first time he spoke to Molly after Sherlock’s funeral was to ask a favor from her, a huge favor at that. A favor that could get her into a lot of trouble if she was found out. 

“When do you need access to it?” She’d risked her job dozens of times before, this time wasn’t any different. Not to mention she’d helped Sherlock get hold of an MRI room for a time once so it wasn’t as though she didn’t have experience.

“The day after tomorrow if possible.” John felt humbled by Molly’s easy agreement and the fact that she wasn’t asking any questions about why and what for. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know what time I’ve cleared for you then.” Molly was already thinking over the shifting she’d need to do and the computer files she’d have to play with. Part of the reason she’d been such an idiot over ‘Jim from IT’ had been because he’d flattered her computer skills. God she’d been an idiot.

“Thank you Molly, I can’t tell you how much this will help. Thank you and I’ll hear for you tomorrow then. Take care.” John ended the call, looking down at his phone before placing it down on the table. “She’ll help; she’ll call tomorrow with the time....Looks like we’re going to Barts.” He rubbed his hand across his face again, mind whirring. If this was how Sherlock felt all the time than there was no wonder he was snappy at times. John would go crazy in less than a week.

Sarah reached over to squeeze his knee again, “Yes, _we_ are. You won’t be alone John,” she knew facing Bart’s again might rip the heart out of him a second time.

John stayed silent, doing his very best to convince himself that he could do it. He could go to Barts, walk across the sidewalk where Sherlock had lain broken, bleeding and gone. He could walk inside, past the morgue and the labs that Sherlock had loved. He could do it, he could, he could. “I have to throw up.” He was up from the couch in a flash and rushing for the bathroom.

Sarah rushed after him and wet a cloth to drape over the back of his neck as he heaved. She rubbed his back soothingly. She just hoped some nutrition had been digested before his stomach had rebelled. She really didn’t want to force him into drinking nutrition shakes. This was going to be a battle all the way through, she knew it.

He slumped down on the bathroom floor next to the toilet bowl. “I’m sorry Sarah, for being such a mess and for burdening you with all of it. If you were smart you should run now as far and fast as you can.” John leaned his forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet. 

“I’m not running anywhere John,” she tilted his head up to wipe his face with the cool cloth, “You’re my friend, helping you through the mess is part of the position.”

“Sucky position then.” He stayed on the floor for now, felt safest that way. “Thank you Sarah, for everything. Someday I hope I can return the favor, to be there for you when you need it.”

She sat down next to him, “I’ll let you know when that day comes.” John speaking of the future was a good thing, a very good thing. “You want to order the groceries online and have them delivered instead of going out?”

“Oh God yes.” John let out a deep breath of relief. “Baby steps. I think I’ve reached my limit of excitement and social interaction for the day...Or week.” He stretched his legs out on the tiled floor in front of him. 

“Okay then, I’ll go get the laptop and a blanket and we can argue about nutritional value and what your stomach is or is not ready for then.” She got up and headed for the living room. She half hoped that this was just all some odd ultrasound glitch that happened just to get John interested in life to a minor degree again but she knew in her gut that it wasn’t. The day after tomorrow would allow them to have incontrovertible proof.

**_To be continued…_ **


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This is a collab between myself and the amazing trulywicked. It contains M-preg so if that isn't your cup of tea you might want to click the back button now. Thank you kindly for the kudos and wonderful comments. We hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well._

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Two._ **

Molly ushered John and Sarah in through Bart’s back door, she’d asked them to come in that way both because she’d wanted to avoid the route that would strike John the most painfully, and because it was closer to the MRI rooms. 

“Thank you again for this Molly.” John followed Molly, eyes firmly fixed on her, not on the familiar rooms and hallways surrounding him. 

She looked back at him, “I’m just glad to be able to help.” She saw clearly how awful he looked and her guilt stabbed her in the heart again as she opened the door to the MRI room she’d managed to clear for them. “You have to have two people to operate the scanner, one in the control room,” she gestured to the other door, “and one in here to handle though you probably already knew that.”

John nodded, he did know that and he had talked things through with Sarah. “I know, we were sort of hoping you could stay and help.” He caught her eyes. “Listen Molly, nothing of what you learn here can come out. I trust you so please, please, please. You can’t tell anyone.” 

Molly’s eyes went wide at the almost desperate undertone in his voice. Something was very, very wrong. Oh God if John was dying then Sherlock...it just didn’t bear thinking about. She swallowed and nodded, “I promise, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you.” He pulled her in for a short hug, then he turned to Sarah. “Let’s get this done then. You start up this monster and I’ll get undressed.” John just wanted it done. In his mind he was nearly a hundred percent sure that he was pregnant but he needed to know for sure. Needed to know if he did have a reason to try and pick himself up and put himself together.

Sarah nodded, “Alright,” she passed all of the metal she had on her to Molly, “Control room is yours.”

“Alright.” Molly took both Sarah and John’s things that could react to the magnet, and headed into the control room. She watched for a moment on the monitor as John slipped on the hospital gown and lay down on the table while Dr. Sawyer began switching on and setting up the machine then Molly set about working on her end. It was mostly a routine scan and she just registered the images the scan captured, saving them to a flash drive instead of the computer system of the hospital, without really paying attention until she spotted something that was absolutely not your average part of the male body.

A gasp came out of her and she stared at what she was seeing in vague horror and disbelief before feeling just a little sick. This was just...so very, very improbable but there it was. Oh poor John and oh God when Sherlock returned. Oh this was going to be a mess.

John lied inside the MRI machine, trying to pretend that he was anywhere but here. It felt like lying inside a coffin and the scanner made the most horrible loud, slamming sounds as it worked around him, scanning his body. He knew he had to keep completely still and he held his hands tightly clenched to keep his tremor from acting up.

If the MRI proved what John felt he knew was the truth then things would only get worse from here on out. How was he supposed to hide a pregnancy from...Well almost everyone for another seven months? He would have to quit his job at the clinic. It felt wrong to hide but it was the only thing he could do, he did not want to be labeled a freak and haunted by reporters as well as everyone who would think they had a say. 

Sarah was on tenterhooks, worried and nervous for John, wondering how much they could really trust Dr. Hooper, and how in the world they’d get John through this whatever the results of this was. When the scan ended and the table was sliding back out, freeing John from the tube of the MRI machine, she was almost twitching with impatience to see the results so she knew the magnitude of fall out they would have to handle. She powered down the machine and helped John off the table, handing him his clothes, “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got then.”

Nodding, John walked behind the screen and got dressed as quickly as he could. His heart was pounding against his ribs and his stomach was knotted with nerves and worry. Still he needed to know the truth. He walked with Sarah into the control room and with one glance at Molly’s face he knew. “So it is true then? It’s really there, no ultrasound glitch?”

Molly jumped up and hugged him tight, absolutely terrified for him, “I...it...um how exactly...”

Sarah moved to the computer screens to begin studying the scans, “Chimerism.”

Molly moved back just a bit and looked at John’s stomach, “This...” she looked back up to meet his eyes, “Anything you need John, if I can help just ask.”

“Thank you Molly, I might just do that because I think I’m going to need all the help I can get.” One hand came to rest over his stomach again. “You realize why no one can know right? Not only would I be turned into some kind of sideshow freak but if anyone could tie Sherlock’s name to this as well...All hell would break lose.” John licked his lips, his usual nervous gesture. “We’re trying to keep it from Mycroft for as long as possible as well...I don’t trust him and if he were to get involved I would never be able to stop doubting his motives.”

She slipped an arm around his waist and guided him over to one of the chairs, “I know. I’m not going to tell anyone John. When Mycroft finds out, he won’t be finding it out from me. I wish there was a way to keep him from finding out at all.” Because like John, she couldn’t completely trust the motives of Sherlock’s brother. She knew he was helping keep Sherlock hidden and disguised, easing his way as he did...whatever it was he had to but that could easily be because it benefited him in some way. Something like this? No she couldn’t trust his motivations.

“We’re giving it a solid go though. John look,” Sarah brought up the image of the uterus itself and the way it was structured, “Looking at this, natural birth would be _possible_ , if agonizing as hell and offering a high risk of hemorrhage and severe damage. C-section is the way to go though.” 

“I couldn’t agree more, as tempting as agony, hemorrhage and damage sound.” John’s tone was dry but he put all thoughts of secrecy out of his mind and focused on the medical part. Christ, he was pregnant! There was a baby inside of him, a baby that was half Sherlock. He blinked rapidly, no time for crying now, he’d cried enough for a lifetime. “Also if you look at the uterus and where it is located, it doesn’t look as if it will be a problem as it expand. It probably won’t be the most comfortable but no other organs seem in danger of being crushed or dislocated. Judging from these images, it looks as if I might actually be able to go through with this.” 

She nodded, “The biggest complication in expansion will be from your pelvic bone but it looks as though once you’ve expanded as wide as you can, it’ll be out and up.” She frowned, “Near the end you’ll need to be put on bedrest.” She clicked to the inside view of the uterus and the odd little thing there that would, hopefully, continue growing, changing, and be born without any problems in roughly thirty three weeks. Right now it looked like a bean shaped mix between a beluga whale and a tadpole.

Molly actually had taken her phone out and was secretly recording John’s reaction. She couldn’t tell anyone about this and she wouldn’t, but when he finished his job and came back, she thought Sherlock would want to know everything about this. So she’d record it for him on the down-low and keep it safe.

John reached out and ran his fingers over the strange little alien like creature on the screen. It was still a marvel, a mind twisting, heart pounding marvel that this was inside him. “For this, for this I’ll do anything, even bedrest.” His eyes were fixed on the screen and his free hand went to his belly, it had already become an unconscious habit of his.

“You’ll be bored as hell,” Sarah’s voice was warm, “We’ll have to set it up so you can consult on patients via webcam, keep you from rotting your brain with crap telly.”

“You know me too well.” John’s lips quirked up into a smile that felt alien on his face, like he didn’t quite remember how to smile. “I actually happen to like crap telly...In small doses, Mrs. Hudson and I used to have our little marathon afternoons of talkshows and make over programs.” He removed his hand from the screen showing his bean baby. “John Watson, pregnant consulting doctor...take that Sherlock, I bet I am the only one in the world at that.” 

Molly made a soft laugh and leaned down to kiss John’s cheek, “Congratulations...are you going to go for Papa or Mama? I mean I know you’re not a woman but you are the Mom...should I just shut up now?” She shifted uncomfortably.

"You know, I haven't really thought about it just yet." John turned serious. "I'm guessing Papa, not that it matters, I'll be doing this on my own anyway."

Sarah pinched his ear, “You might not have Sherlock here John but you’ve got me, and Dr. Hooper, and we’re not going to let you do this on your own. Are we?” She looked over at Molly.

“Absolutely not,” Molly squeezed his shoulder, “You’ll have me and obviously Dr. Sawyer to help and support you.”

He smiled and placed his hand over Molly’s on his shoulder “I know and I am so very grateful for it.” That wasn’t quite what he’d meant but he saw no reason to tell them that, they were really going above and beyond to help him. Still this baby would only have one parent. John would be there to rock it from nightmares and ear infections, witnessing the first tooth and the first step. He would do it alone...Sherlock would never see anything, never know he had a child. It was going to be rough, John held no illusions, it was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever done but he could do it.

Molly squeezed his shoulder again as Sarah finished going over the scan then she reached out and closed the program out and ejected the USB drive, handing it to John before erasing the evidence of the session that remained in the console. “The USB should be the only thing left of the scan.”

Sarah relaxed and smiled, “Good. Thank you Dr. Hooper.”

“Oh just call me Molly,” the nervous little pathologist gave her a smile, “We’ll be working together after all.”

“Sarah then,” she offered her hand in a shake of agreement. She then looked over at John, “We’d best get going before someone comes in here for the next MRI appointment though.”

John nodded and moved to give Molly a hug. “Thank you Molly, for this and for being such a good friend. I’ll be in touch, make sure you don’t get into trouble over this.” He tucked the USB in his pocket and donned his usual jacket. “Think we could sneak out the backdoor as well?” John really didn’t want to go out the main door.

“Of course,” Molly gave him a hug, “It’s not locked or guarded or anything. I just wanted to be there to greet you so you didn’t have to come down to the morgue.” She hugged him back, “And don’t worry. I won’t get in any trouble. Promise.”

He gave her smile and hugged her again, grateful for her thoughtfulness. Then he and Sarah made their way back through the corridors until they could slip out the back door. Once they had walked a bit away from the imposing building, John felt as if he could finally breathe again. “So change of diet, weekly checkups and exercise...Anything more I should think of straight away?”

“You’ll have to straighten up the flat,” it was spoken gently, “Straighten it up, spend time baby-proofing, because you and I both know you won’t be able to live anywhere else.” She met his eyes, “Not all at once or immediately, you’ve,” she did some mental calculations, “probably sixteen weeks before it gets hard to bend over, but it’ll have to be done.”

“I know, I know you’re right...It’s just once everything’s gone it just shows that he’s gone too. That he’s never coming back to perform his insane experiments or stab the mantelpiece with knives.” John sighed and looked down at the sidewalk where they walked. “I do know he’s gone, at least my head does...I’m just waiting for my heart to catch up.”

She laid her hand on his arm and squeezed, “Not everything gone though. Just baby proofed. You’ll still have the skull, that shot smiley face on the wall, the violin, his chair, his clothes. Rather than a knife you can just nail the Cluedo board to the wall. And by clean up I mean putting all the papers, equipment, and whatnot into archival boxes because you’ll be telling stories.” She rubbed his back, “The tadpole is going to want to hear about its daddy and, if he or she winds up half as brilliant as daddy, he or she will want to see the things that back it all up.” 

“No matter how brilliant though, this child is never going to feel bad for being smart. I won’t let that happen.” There was a silent strength to John’s voice. Sherlock had been teased and alienated because of his brilliance and John hated it. He had tried to make Sherlock see how utterly amazing he was and he would make sure that their child knew from its first breath. “I’ll ask Mrs. Hudson if she helps me with the flat, together we can figure out what to put away and what can stay.”

“You’ll have to tell her, in your own time.” Sarah shook her head with a smile, “I’m more than sure she’d tell the King Tit to go fly a kite if you told her not to tell him. You’re her boy, a son in her heart and mind. I think she’d take a broom to anyone who dared to upset you.”

John chuckled. “Mrs. Hudson is one of a kind, not even Mycroft could budge her. I’m lucky to have her in my corner.” As much as Mrs. Hudson played up the ditzy old lady act she was one of the sharpest and kindest people John knew. “She’ll make an excellent Grandmother.”

“She will, and she’ll help all of us make sure the tadpole knows that whether brilliant or not, he or she is utterly perfect.” Sarah hoped with every last ounce of her being, that John would carry to term because even though he was still a little broken she was seeing him come back to life. If the baby didn’t make it...they’d lose him forever and she knew that.

“So in term with turning over a new leaf and taking care of myself, what do you say to lunch? My treat?” Lunch was the least he could do for Sarah after everything she was doing for her. It still felt foreign to smile and walk and talk but John had to start somewhere. He was going to be strong and do everything he could do ensure this baby’s health and safety.

“Sounds brilliant. Where do you want to eat?” She gave him a happy smile.

“Don’t know, somewhere with real food and not sandwiches. Greek maybe? There’s a nice little place just a couple of streets from here.”

“Lead the way Captain,” she hooked her arm through his in a friendly manner, “I could go for some spanakopita.”

“Then let’s go get you fed.” They walked to the restaurant and took their seats. This was a good place, good food and best of all John didn’t have any emotional ties to it.

Sarah directed the conversation to work, “I did mean it about the webcam consulting. It’s the perfect way to keep your job and stay safe in the flat at the same time. And it wouldn’t be limited just to the clinic. I’ve seen the records of your work in the field, other surgeons would kill for a chance to consult with you.”

“That might have been true once but I haven’t performed a real surgery in years. You know how quickly that world shifts; the methods I used are probably already outdated. I will accept the webcam consulting greedily though because being locked away and doing nothing would drive me spare within a week.” He poked at his food before deciding to be a good boy and eat without being difficult, this not eating thing was something he had to get over and fast.

Sarah just beamed as he ate, just happy that he _was_ eating. She caught sight of a CCTV camera and, in a fit of joy fueled boldness, held up two fingers to it, flipping whoever might be watching off before tucking in to her own food.

\--------------------------------------------

Sarah marked a few things down into John’s file, just tracking as she’d done in the month since the MRI, and spoke into her phone, “Okay so that’s another pair of trousers that’s starting to feel a bit tight, brings the number up to four out of ten and personally I’m absolutely thrilled about it.”

“Me too.” John replied on his end, rubbing his little bump. He was only three months along but since despite his chimerism he really wasn’t built to carry a child it already showed. He could still hide it behind lumpy jumpers though. “When we first started this I was afraid it never would happen.” 

“Well we can stow that fear away now. Are you still having trouble convincing yourself to eat or have the cravings kicked in yet?”

“A little bit of both actually. I still have to sit down and really tell myself to eat and then at times I can get these insane cravings. I feel like a first class binge eater.” John chuckled into his phone. “The eating thing is getting better with every day though, so no worries there.”

“Good. And everything else is going smoothly? No odd feelings, bad cramps, or pain anywhere?” She made a scribbled note in the corner of the file.

“No, nothing except for the ache at the hips that we talked about during the last check up. A bit sensitive nipples but nothing out of norm...Or what can be considered norm in this case.” 

She chuckled, “Alright then, and neither the King Tit nor his handmaiden have been around making a nuisance of themselves?”

“No they haven’t,” John walked to sit down on the couch. “Actually their complete silence is freaking me out more than to be constantly watched. Mycroft is not the sort of person to simply back off. I can’t help but wonder what he’s up to.”

“That does sound a bit nerve-wracking. Well you did say a month at best to keep it from him if we weren’t being paranoid so perhaps he’s getting...irritable with the lack of success? Should we start being paranoid?”

“What do you mean start? I’m looking over my shoulder even inside the flat.” John was a little worried; it was easier to avoid Mycroft when you knew that he was watching. “I’m sure he will find out soon enough...I just wonder how to keep him away when he does find out.”

“Cattle prod?” It was a dry statement, “Taser? Guard dog? Chains forged by Hephaestus?”

“Get me those chains and I will tackle him myself to chain him up somewhere where the sun doesn’t shine.” John let out a breath. “Seriously though, I can worry but I’m not going to obsess over Mycroft Holmes. I’ve got more important things to think about.”

“Good on you,” She finished updating the file and closed it, “It’s just about dinner time so I’ll let you go. You eating in or going out tonight?”

“I thought I’d venture out, maybe going to Angelo’s, see if I can actually make it inside the door, before I turn tail and run.” John had tried going there several times and bailed every time.

“Alright then, good luck and you know you’re welcome to come by here and risk my cooking if you can’t take Angelo’s yet.”

“Your cooking is not a risk, it’s a treat and you know it. We’ll see I suppose, I might come knocking on your door if I chicken out again.” John smiled even though he knew, Sarah couldn’t see it. “If not then I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, watch out for crazy drivers crossing the street then. I’ll talk with you tomorrow at the latest.” She looked up with a frown when she heard a knock on her door, “Someone’s knocking so I’ll let you go now. Have a good evening John.”

“Good evening.” John hung up his phone and looked around the apartment, it was a lot cleaner now, and most of Sherlock’s things, his lab, clothes and research had been put into storage. John knew that he probably should have given Sherlock’s clothes away but he hadn’t had the heart to do it. The nights were still rough and wrecked with nightmares but John took it a day at a time, it was all he could do. 

Grabbing his, jacket, phone, wallet and keys he stepped out to see if he actually could make it to Angelo’s this time.

It was busy this time of day, just after dusk, everyone hustling about to get dinner or get home for dinner. It wasn’t what most would consider the typical time for a crime to occur but then again, nothing in John’s life had really been typical of late had it?

Roughly a block and a half away from Angelo’s, two men came struggling out of an alley, one of them calling for help, and being basically ignored, the other snarling and yanking and trying to pull a bag away from the one yelling for assistance. Then, between one breath and the next, the thief made a move that most would mistake as punching the other man in the gut, most that was, who hadn’t been in combat. It wasn’t a punch; it was a stab into the body with a large knife that was twisted on exit.

The pain made the victim gasp out and release his grip on the bag, letting the other man escape with his loot.

“Oi!” John saw the attacker run away but he couldn’t leave a man bleeding on the street, that was not in him. He whipped out his phone and called 999 for an ambulance as he hurried over and kneeled next to the man. There was a lot of blood, a _lot_ of it and from the dark color of it, John could see that the liver had probably been nicked. 

John pulled the man’s shirt up and winced at what he was seeing, pressing his hands against the wound but seeing more blood seep out between his fingers, finally he took off his jacket, pulled off his jumper and pressed it tightly against the bleeding wound. “It’s okay, it’s going to be fine, the ambulance is on its way.” He kept his voice as calm as possible.

The victim gave him a shaky smile, “Thanks for the thought. I don’t-” he winced, “I don’t think it’s going to get here in time. Rush hour through London?” He made a grimacing laugh before latching his eyes onto John’s face, “You have a girl?”

“No,” John shook his head. “Had one...not very lucky in love I suppose.” He kept his ruined jumper pressed against the man’s abdomen even though the doctor in him recognized that it was hopeless. He’d seen a lot of liver wounds in the Army, never got easier though. “How about you? You got a girl?”

An ironic twist of his lips, “Wife, pissed her off something awful. Put the job over her for too long. Ducked into a shop to get her some crazy bauble, pulled into the alley after I left,” he sucked in a labored breath, “Stupid. Should have just apologized and made a picnic like we used to go on. Easier to get some expensive bit of nothing I thought...stupid, real apology means more.” His eyes closed, “You find a new girl, you never hesitate to really apologize laddie, pride’s not worth words lost.”

“I know, believe me I know.” John removed one bloodied hand from pressing the jumper against the wound and took the man’s hand. “I also know that your wife loves you. Pissed or not, work or not she would forgive you no matter what. Probably already has.” The man had turned ghostly pale and from the labored breathing, John knew he didn’t have long left, it didn’t matter if the ambulance showed up, it would already be too late. It was so bloody unfair. 

“Yeah, just wish I could tell her that I love her too one more time,” he opened his eyes again lips tilting up to look at the sky, “You know I read something once, where old warriors never fought on a cloudy day because then it wouldn’t be a good day to die. They wanted clear skies so their souls didn’t get lost in the clouds.” The night sky was crystal clear, “Guess it’s a good night to die,” he squeezed John’s hand, “Thank you laddie, I’m glad I’m not alone.” He took a few more strained breaths then his eyes slid shut and he was still.

“Bloody, buggering cuntwanker.” John cursed under his breath. Sitting down next to the dead man, glaring daggers at the crowd that had gathered around. Fucking useless idiots, it was great to stand around and gawk but good heavens if someone actually asked if they could help. 

The sound of sirens was finally coming closer; John reached up to rub at his cheek, leaving a bloody smear behind. He hoped Sarah wouldn’t be mad but he wasn’t much in the mood for dinner.

It was the police that arrived first and, in keeping with sod’s law, who should be the first man out of a car but Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, who’s first words upon catching sight of the scene and all it entailed were, “Christ.”

“And the day just keeps getting better.” John clenched his jaw but stayed where he was, he knew he wouldn’t be let out of there until he’d answered their questions, especially since he was covered in the victim’s blood. 

“Well look who it is, back on the streets to be found where crime is committed. Knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away for long.” Sally smirked at the good doctor.

“Sally,” Greg cut a warning look in her direction, “Help the constables push the gawkers back and collect statements.” It was firm and it held an edge of danger. He’d been cleared of any wrong doing in regard to letting Sherlock onto crime scenes but he wasn’t anywhere near to forgiving Sally for forcing his hand the way she had and he wanted to keep her away from John as much as humanly possible because God knew she’d never manage to keep her mouth shut. Even Anderson knew better than to poke a sleeping tiger.

There was a tightening around Sally’s lips but she did as Lestrade asked ordered the police tape to be put up as well as taking statements from a few of the onlookers that had been there from the beginning. 

John looked up at Greg from where he sat on the sidewalk. “Single stab wound to the abdomen, liver damage, he bled out. He’d stopped to buy his wife some sort of jewelry, was pulled into the alley when he exited the store and was stabbed when he didn’t let go of the bag. Can I go now Detective Inspector?”

Greg held a hand out, offering it to help John up, eyes tired and sad. He knew it wouldn’t mean anything to John but he’d lost a friend when Sherlock had jumped off that roof and he knew that a lot of the blame was his. “I’m sorry John but I’m going to have to get the whole story from the start with all the details. That’s the way it goes.”

“Funny, I didn’t see the truth matter very much before.” John pointedly ignored Greg’s hand and got to his feet on his own, looking around for his jacket since he was only in a thin undershirt after having used his jumper to stanch the blood. 

“Oh my God!” Sally’s voice was piercing as she promptly walked away from the crowd to go stand in front of John. “What’s _that_?” She pointed at his small lump. “I can’t believe it; I guess he was more of a freak than anyone could have known, even managing to get his little sidekick up the duff. You can’t actually mean to carry it to term though right? It’s unnatural, it’s sick...You can’t let that monster breed, it would probably be another monster just as bad as he was.”

John saw red, he couldn’t hear anything except for the pounding in his ears as he pulled his shoulder back and planted his fist right in that hag’s face. He caught some vague satisfaction of seeing her crumble to the ground but it wasn’t enough, he wanted to kill her...He would kill her.

“Shit!” Greg jumped forward and caught John under the arms, pulling him away from Donovan, “John, John! Stop!” He shouted for one of the constables to help Sally up and keep her at the scene while he took John inside a nearby shop, barking out orders to be taken back to a private room so he could calm John down, however unlikely that would be. Jesus. He knew Sally could be stupid but really? She sees that John’s put on weight and automatically assumes that a _man_ is pregnant before shrilling out insults about the lover of a man who’d just had someone bleed to death in front of him? God knew she’d had that punch coming and he was going to do his damnedest to keep John from getting into trouble for it. “John I need you to calm down for God’s sake.”

“No, did you hear what that cunt said? Did you hear?” John’s fists were still clenched and he was shaking from absolute rage. “Fucking bitch wasn’t worth licking Sherlock’s shoes and she knows it. She has no right saying those things, no right at all. Sherlock was the best man I’ve ever met, he wasn’t a monster.” One hand came to curl around his belly. “He wasn’t a monster or a freak and neither is this baby...No right, I should have hit the bitch harder”

Greg made a strangled choking noise, letting John go and moving so that he was blocking the door out of the room, “ _What_?” His eyes jerked down to where John’s hand was covering his stomach protectively, a gesture Greg had seen many times on women cops just before they ducked out of the field. “Wait a minute...she wasn’t just talking out of her ass with that assumption? You’re...” he couldn’t squeak out the word, “but aren’t you...you _are_ a man right? I haven’t just been so blind as to miss a very stocky woman binding breasts down have I?” 

“Fuck.” John leaned back against the wall when he realized that his secret was out. With Sally’s screeching out there, there was no way that this wouldn’t get back to Mycroft and quickly too. He looked at Greg with resigned eyes. “Oh for God’s sake, yes I’m a man, I have the junk to prove it if you want to see. Long story very short because this is none of your fucking business. I have chimerism...Started out as twins but my twin sister’s cells were absorbed by me causing me to have working female bits inside...Didn’t know any of this before this little surprise was sprung on me.”

Greg gave up all hope of staying upright and just slumped back against the door, sliding down to sit on the floor, staring up at John for a moment before running a hand over his face, “Jesus fucking Christ,” he pulled his talkie and spoke to the constable who’d taken Donovan aside, “Keep Sally sequestered, I think she might have had a glass or two too much at the pub before the call came.”

“Yes, sir I’d say she did considering the things she’s spouting. We’ve got her locked up in the back of the ambulance for now sir. Statements are still being taken but it looks like a clear case of theft turned bad and a Good Samaritan sir.”

“Right, thanks then.” He closed out the channel and blew out a breath before eyeing the bump of John’s abdomen again, “You’ve really got a little Sherlock in there?”

John blew out a harsh breath through his nose. “Yeah, yeah I really do.” He looked around the room they were in until he caught sight of a chair and pulled close so he could sit down on it. “I really don’t want this to get out. You heard what the bitch said...People would not take this well, not any of it.” 

“It’s not like I’m going to go screaming it from the street corners John,” Greg watched him, “Sally might try but she’d be risking her entire career and wind up in Bedlam. Everyone _knows_ you’re a man so unless that...what was it? Chimerism? Unless the masses know that, she’ll be looked at the same way that End of Days criers are, completely off her rocker.” He scrubbed a hand over his hair, cupping the back of his neck, “She’s worse than usual right round now too.”

“Got passed over for promotion despite all her intrigue then? Boohoo for her.” John’s voice was absolutely cold. “She shouldn’t be a cop at all and you know it but it’s not as if you’re doing anything about it, too busy clinging to your own career.” John was so tired; he just wanted to go home. “You were my friend Greg, not just Sherlock’s but mine too but I will never trust you again. Just take my statement so I can get the fuck out of here before Mycroft shows up.”

Greg’s jaw flexed but he didn’t snarl out back at John. It wasn’t just his career he’d been trying to protect, if he’d tried to get Sherlock out of the muck like every time before then it would have just pushed him down deeper. The ‘arrest’ wouldn’t have held water because of the lack of evidence and if Sherlock just hadn’t _run_ then things would have been alright. The only reason the arrest had taken place to start with had been because Sally had fucked the Superintendent into agreeing with her. Now both Donovan and the Superintendent were the ones under an internal investigation, one Greg had a sneaky feeling had been requested by Sherlock’s brother. He sighed and got up, running a hand over his face and opening the door, “Hell with it. I’ll pull you in tomorrow.” He pulled off his own jacket and held it out to John, “Cover up; I’ll get your jacket back to you tomorrow when I come by.” He turned his talky back on, “Blake, need you to take our wit round home to avoid the godawful media I know are already swarming around.”

“Yes, sir I’ll have the car running hot.”

John put Lestrade’s jacket on, feeling a little bit like a kid in his parent’s clothes. His weight was fine and the baby healthy but he was still a lot skinnier than before, except for around his waist. Since there was nothing left to say to Greg he just stood there and waited for the car to come and take him home. He needed to wash the blood off his hands...Again. 

He missed Greg, missed the man’s dry humor and his friendship but he had spoken the truth, he couldn’t trust the other man and right now he needed people who he could trust with everything that he was. 

When the car came, he got into the backseat, closed the door and closed his eyes, letting the movements of the car soothe his frazzled nerves.

Greg huffed out a breath and then walked out to deal with the mess left behind. Speaking of, he had to have a very long talk with Mycroft as soon as he finished up here.

**_To be continued…_ **


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Three._ **

Greg hung John’s jacket up on the coat hook so he’d remember to grab it in the morning and made his way down the hall to Mycroft’s study. As he lifted a hand to knock, to give Mycroft time to hide any sensitive files, the door opened and out stepped two of the ‘errand boys’ Mycroft used from time to time, both of them looking decidedly worse for wear, scratches that looked like they’d tangled with an angry cat, bruises, torn suits, and the biggest one even had an eye swelling up at an alarming rate. “Jesus what the hell happened to you two?”

The largest one rumbled with a wince, “A mother bear,” then he and his fellow proceeded to limp past Greg and down the hall.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling one hell of a headache building behind his temples. Really, how difficult could it be to put pressure and get one single file from one little slip of a woman. She was pixie sized for goodness sake. After the debacle at the crime scene he needed that medical file more than ever. He knew the truth now but not the how or the why of it. Christ, his brother always left such messes to be cleaned up. Not even Mycroft knew how to handle this though. 

Greg walked in and perched on the corner of Mycroft’s desk, “Well you look round about how I feel right now.” He lifted a hand and laid it on the back of Mycroft’s neck, gently squeezing, “I hate to ask considering how bad a day you’re obviously having but I’m hoping you can sneak a way for Donovan’s blood alcohol test from tonight to come back as over the legal limit. Give me more of a toehold to keep someone from crying to arrest John.”

“You don’t even have to ask, consider it done.” Mycroft leaned back in his chair, into Greg’s touch. “Speaking of your charming sergeant, she is part of the reason I am having such a glorious day. If it was possible I wouldn’t mind strangle my little brother right now.”

“Hard to strangle a dead man but by God his skill at leaving behind a shitstorm is unrivaled,” Greg’s voice was sad, much like he felt over Sherlock, “This one takes the cake though.”

“Indeed.” Mycroft hated seeing the sadness in Greg, knew that his lover felt guilty but he couldn’t say anything. He had cocked up with Moriarty; he couldn’t betray Sherlock’s trust again, no matter the cost. Part of him wanted to reach Sherlock through one of the secure lines, scream at him, look what you have done, look at the mess you left behind, but he couldn’t do that either. Sherlock was playing a dangerous game at the moment and he couldn’t afford to lose focus and this...This would shoot that focus straight to hell. 

Greg eyed him just a bit, he knew that Mycroft would have heard about Sally’s outburst but would he have taken that as truth? Then again considering the things Mycroft saw on a regular basis a pregnant man probably wasn’t too far outside the realm of possibility. “She was right, for once in a shocking turn of events. John is...erm you know.” He just couldn’t say it, he really couldn’t say it. It was just too weird.

“With child yes, so I’ve learnt. I knew there was something wrong with him, ever since he fainted in the street and that lady doctor nearly took my head off. She hasn’t left a single electronic trace, written the whole chart by hand. If she wasn’t utterly annoying I would try to recruit her.” Mycroft placed his hand on Greg’s knee and squeezed. “I’m not exactly John’s favorite person right now but if he wasn’t such a stubborn arse he would see that I could help.”

“Lady doctor? You mean Sarah? Huh, she’s usually very sweet.” He caught Mycroft’s hand and laced their fingers together, “It’s more than you being one of John’s least favorite people right now though, I think. He’s got a little Sherlock growing inside him, is going to be a parent and considering that he actually clocked Donovan, he’s in serious protective mode right now. I think you scare him.”

“I scare most people, it’s what I do.” It was said as a matter of fact. Mycroft was very much aware of what his place in life was, it was something he had chosen himself and walked into with wide open eyes so he had no right to complain. “Not even I would attempt to take John’s child away from him though, nor be some sort of bogeyman strapping him down for experiments.”

“I know that and I don’t think John believes you’d strap him down for experiments,” he cupped Mycroft’s cheek gently, “It’s the first scenario that scares him because you are in a position of power and you are the baby’s uncle. John did sound resigned to you showing up though so when you do, just make sure he knows that all you want to do is help make things easier for him.” Greg shook his head, “I can’t even imagine how it must have felt for him to find this out. Go your whole life thinking you’re the average bloke then boom, oh by the way you can get knocked up because of some weird twin absorby thing?”

“Chimerism.” Mycroft added absently as another piece slotted into place as he heard that. So that explained the how then. “I don’t doubt that John had a terrible shock and a hard time both now and in the future as well.” And what a clusterfuck it would be when Sherlock came back. If John was this pissed with them now, Mycroft didn’t even want to think what kind of reception Sherlock would get. 

Greg nodded, “You, Uncle Mycroft, are going to have your hands full with this one,” he trailed his fingers through Mycroft’s hair.

Mycroft made a small hum of pleasure at Greg’s touch. “I’m going to have to be sneaky I suppose, protect people who doesn’t want to be protected. Maybe I should take lessons from you; you face that every day after all.” 

He snorted, “Oh people want to be protected, they just have their own opinions on how it should be done and who they trust to do it. My problems come in when the higher ups assign people I can’t trust at my back to work with me.”

“People have slept their way to the top since the beginning of time...Just look at you; you’re sleeping with the British Government?” Mycroft gave him a wry smile.

Greg caught the back of his neck again and leaned in, pulling Mycroft forward, “Yeah but I’m not sleeping with you because I’m trying to get anywhere,” he nibbled at Mycroft’s bottom lip, “Being in your bed is my ultimate goal Mr. Government.”

“Mmm, you’ve reached that goal then since my bed is where you’ll stay from now on. The Government doesn’t share.” Mycroft flicked his tongue against Greg’s top lip, reaching up to smooth his hand over silvery hair. “My point is though, that when you sleep your way to the top, you don’t have any solid ground to stand on and when you fall you fall in a way that leaves you unable to ever climb up again. With her stunt today, Sergeant Donovan has fallen.”

“Thank God for small favors but if it’s all the same to you, can we leave the subject of Donovan for the night, not exactly the thoughts I want in my head or yours when I’m kissing you.”

“Don’t worry; you won’t be able to think anything but me after I’m done with you.” Mycroft grabbed Greg until he’d managed to maneuver the other man into his lap.

“Good,” Greg happily straddled Mycroft’s lap and tilted his head to claim the other’s mouth in a scorching kiss. These days this was where he felt alive and not just a wasted, used up old copper. Being with Mycroft gave him strength to keep moving forward and not get sucked up into a morass of blame and guilt. He hoped he was able to do the same for the other man that he was falling fast and deeply in love with.

One hand gripped Greg’s hip and the other traveled up and down his back, over the soft fabric of Greg’s shirt. Mycroft happily surrendered to the kiss, moving his lips and tongue in tandem with his lover. Greg Lestrade was the one real thing in his life, the one thing that was _his_. His whole life was made up of ruling without anyone knowing it, without anyone knowing him but Greg knew him, saw behind the shadows and smoke and Mycroft adored him for it. 

Greg’s hand found itself wrapping Mycroft’s tie around it and he nibbled and sucked at his lover’s lips, “If you’re done for the day,” he licked into Mycroft’s mouth briefly, “then what do you say we get into that humongous lake of padding you call a mattress and we can have dessert before dinner in bed?”

“You know me; I can never turned down anything sweet.” Mycroft smiled against Greg’s lips. “Come on then, but once we reach my decadent bed you better already be naked.” He reached down and squeezed Greg’s bum. 

He rolled back, out of Mycroft’s lap and onto his feet, pulling his lover along by the tie as he walked backward out of the office and toward Mycroft’s bedroom, his other hand already working to pull his own tie off, toss his jacket to the ground, and unbutton his shirt, “That can be arranged but don’t take your clothes off,” he nipped at Mycroft’s jaw, “I want to do that. I love stripping you out of those suits piece by piece until I’ve got you naked in front of me.”

Mycroft made a sound of pure want deep in his throat. Gods what this man did to him. He busied himself with running his hands all over the inches of skin that was revealed as Greg stripped. This was the only man he’d ever let lead him around by his tie, when Greg was the one doing it, then Mycroft could relax and just allow himself to feel, to take what he wanted. “Concentrate on getting your own clothes off first before worrying about mine.” He mouthed at Greg’s neck, just below his ear.

“I can multi-task,” it was a rough, husky declaration as Greg shrugged out of his shirt and jacket, pressing Mycroft against the wall for the brief moments he had to release the tie so he could. He pressed his leg up between Mycroft’s thighs, rubbing against the junction of his legs and the hard bulge there as he toed off his shoes and socks.

“Good, I’ve always been especially fond of the skill of multi-tasking.” Mycroft rubbed himself against the strong, hard thigh pressing against his erection. There was something deeply erotic about being fully clothed, right down to his gleaming cuff-links as Greg was getting more and more undressed.

Greg caught Mycroft’s mouth in another kiss and pulled him along once more; heading for the bedroom, and it was just outside the bedroom door that Greg undid his trousers and shoved them and his pants off, kicking the offending garments away. He pulled Mycroft into the bedroom, tongue greedily exploring his lover’s mouth.

“Mmm.” The sound that escaped Mycroft was half groan and half purr. He pushed against Greg’s tongue with his own, tangling them together as he reached down and wrapped a slender, elegant hand around his lover’s shaft, keeping his touches light and teasing.

He growled into Mycroft’s mouth, hungry and playful at the same time, and rolled his hips into the light grasp. Greg sucked on his lover’s tongue, nipped at his lip, and kissed his way down his throat before moving back just a bit so he could look down and watch what he was doing as his fingers slowly unknotted Mycroft’s tie and slid it out of the fine quality shirt collar. He slipped his hands under the suit jacket, pushing it off Mycroft’s shoulders and down his arms with a sensual smile.

Mycroft let Greg undress him, not caring at all where the clothes ended up. The only thing that caused him got give a growling protest was that he had to let go of Greg’s erection in order to get the jacket sleeve all the way off. He wanted to touch, to taste but he had promised that Greg could take his clothes off and he didn’t go back on his promises, not the ones made to Greg anyway. 

Greg took advantage of the moment, unbuttoning Mycroft’s waistcoat and stripping it off, then doing the same to the shirt, licking his lips as freckled skin was revealed. Once Mycroft was shirtless, he smoothed his hands over the narrow chest with its lean muscle. Mycroft, for all that he preferred sedentary life, was not in any way fat. Not to Greg’s eyes. Matter of fact he often felt that, with the way Mycroft starved himself, his lover was too skinny. He leaned in and pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss to Mycroft’s collarbone.

Being able to use his hands again, Mycroft took advantage, roaming Greg’s skin, caressing and scratching gently at the broad expanse of his back. Greg’s skin was warm and smooth, some scars dotting in here and there but that only made him more beautiful in Mycroft’s eyes. Greg was all strong lines and corded muscles and he turned Mycroft inside out, Gods he wanted the other man so much, wanted him in every way possible, in every aspect of his life. 

The noise Greg made could be likened to a purr as he nipped his way down Mycroft’s chest, sucking hard to bring blood to the surface and leave a mark. His hands danced over ribs too prominent for his liking, he’d have to send Mycroft a basket of turn-overs again, to play his fingers along notched hipbones. Mycroft was intoxicating to him but at the same time he also spurred Greg’s protective drive to life. His lover just didn’t take good enough care of himself so Greg was determined to do it for him.

Mycroft loved Greg’s hands on him, they left him shivering and shaking. He was a man though, he wouldn’t break and he wouldn’t mind if Greg was a little rougher, if he just took what he wanted. Mycroft actually liked the thought of having finger shaped bruises to hide behind his suits as a quiet reminder. To let Greg know that, he ran his own hands down to Greg’s rather extraordinary behind. He cupped it before digging his nails in, not to the point of paint though, it was never about pain only pleasure.

Greg lifted his head, brows raised, and met Mycroft’s eyes, “Oh really now?” A smile flickered over his lips and he had Mycroft’s belt and trousers undone and down between breaths, leaving him in a pool of tweed in only his briefs. He dropped to his knees, looking up with mischief and hunger at Mycroft as he worked shoes and socks off.

Mycroft looked back, one eyebrow raised. Oh but did Greg look delicious on his knees like that. He brought his hands to Greg’s face, running his fingertips over his lover’s cheek, jaw line and lips before threading them into Greg’s short hair, tugging lightly. “Oh really.” He agreed softly. “Think you can handle it?” 

A grin, full of teeth and sexual intent, preceded a sharp, just this side of hurting, bite to Mycroft’s hip. “The question,” it was purred out, “is if _you_ can handle it.” He swirled his tongue over the already purpling bite and yanked down Mycroft’s briefs in one smooth, speedy moment. His hands went to grip Mycroft’s hips and he ran his tongue up the underside of his erection, holding him perfectly still. It was a firm grip that spoke of the capability of becoming hard in an instant. If Mycroft wanted to be marked and taken a little roughly, that was what he’d get but on Greg’s terms.

Oh dear, sweet God. How did Greg expect him to keep still with that teasing tongue on his prick? Not to mention to look in Greg’s eyes, that alone was enough for Mycroft’s hips to buck on their own. His hands tightened as best they could in Greg’s short strands and a pleading moan left his lips. 

Greg’s hold tightened just enough to force Mycroft’s hips into stillness as he continued to swipe his tongue all over his lover’s shaft, down to suck on the skin of Mycroft’s scrotum, tonguing one ball then the other before returning to tormenting the now weeping cock. He flicked the tip of his tongue over the head, catching precome and licking it up with a pleased sound before he closed his lips around it.

“Christ, you evil, teasing berk.” Mycroft’s voice was gravelly with arousal and if Greg hadn’t held his hips in an unrelenting hold then he would have been fucking Greg’s mouth by now. That mouth was a marvel after all, so tight and wet and with the most wicked tongue Mycroft had ever felt on his person. His breath came out in gasping pants as he kept his eyes locked on his lover. “Just look at you, look how gorgeous you are like this.”

Greg pulled his mouth off just long enough to answer, “Oh gorgeous is a matter of opinion Mycroft. For example I’d call the way you look right now beyond gorgeous.” That said he took Mycroft’s cock back into his mouth, taking more in this time and pulling back teasingly, setting up a slow bob of his head, sliding Mycroft’s prick in and out between his lips. He loved to make Mycroft shiver and pant with desire, to break down the walls his lover guarded himself with, to absolutely _wreck_ Mycroft Holmes’ control.

Mycroft tensed as he shuddered at pleasure so intense in almost bordered on pain. Mycroft wanted, oh God how he wanted. Greg’s slow sucks were so wonderful, gut-twistingly fantastic but it wasn’t enough. Mycroft needed more. He needed to move, to grab and hold on as pleasure swallowed him whole. If Greg hadn’t been holding his hips he wasn’t sure that his knees wouldn’t have buckled. “Please...Just please Greg.”

He didn’t reply verbally, instead he pulled off Mycroft’s cock and lifted him, going the few steps to the bed and dropping his lover onto the mattress. He grabbed the lube and a condom from the bedside table, turned Mycroft over and pulled him up so he was on his knees, spread his arse cheeks, and ran his tongue over the puckered hole.

It wasn’t a whine, Mycroft would deny that to his dying breath. A Holmes did not whine...A Mycroft might but that was neither here nor there. He fisted his hands in soft, soft sheets and pushed his arse back toward Greg’s face.

Greg let Mycroft push back even as he licked and massaged the pucker with his tongue until he could just push it inside, and get a sharp cry from Mycroft at the same time. He fucked him with his tongue, licking in and out in what he knew had to be a maddening rhythm for Mycroft. Not nearly enough to toss his lover over, which was the point. He want Mycroft pushed so far beyond control that by the time he came, with Greg’s cock deep inside him, he was screaming.

Mycroft rocked his entire body into the sensations Greg was giving him, his toes curled with each push and his fingers turned white with the death grip he had on his sheets. Now he might be whining, he was certainly moaning and pleading and much too far gone to care. He needed more, he needed to come, to be filled. One hand tightened its grip on the beddings even more and the other crawled down beneath his own legs to tug and stroke his prick. All Mycroft wanted now was to get off.

Greg made a sound, remarkably like a growl, pulled Mycroft’s hand away from stimulating himself, and pulled his tongue out of him to bite one round arse cheek, “Oh no you don’t.”  
He opened the lube and poured some down the crack of Mycroft’s arse, making sure it ran over the entrance to his body, then brought his fingers to it. He pressed one into him in a slick glide, licking over the bite on his lover’s arse cheek as he did. He chuckled huskily. Every time Mycroft sat down tomorrow, he’d be feeling that mark as well as the other results of Greg fucking him blind.

Mycroft felt like a live wire, as if he was buzzing with electricity from the inside out. He clenched around Greg’s finger, hoping to entice his lover into adding another one or even better just fuck him. He wanted it, he was empty and aching and only Greg could fix it right now. Sweat dampened his hair and pooled at his lower back as he bucked and twisted. “Please just get on with it before I ride my own fingers and get off that way.” It was supposed to come out as a growl but changed to a high pitched squeal when Greg’s finger brushed against his prostate.

Another rough, growling sound came from the DI, “Oh no you won’t,” he pushed a second finger into Mycroft, lapping at the skin that stretched around them, giving mental thanks that he’d grabbed the flavored lube as he did so. He pushed his fingers in and out, scissoring them to stretch and tease, only pressing on Mycroft’s prostate when his lover began to complain, and loving to noises he got out of him. “You’re not going to come until I say so,” he tore open the condom with his teeth and rolled it on with one hand before licking a long line up Mycroft’s back as he drizzled more lube over his sheathed cock, “because if you do I’m going to pull out and we’ll start this all over again until you can’t even remember what day it is much less your own name.”

“Where do these sadistic tendencies come from?” Mycroft wasn’t complaining though, oh no, very much not complaining. He felt Greg’s hot shaft against his arse and tried to rub against it, to get inside him. Despite Greg’s threats it wasn’t in him to give in completely, he still had some fight left in him. “Don’t you want to make me come on your cock? To feel me clench and shudder around you? Do you really want to wait any longer? Don’t you want to see if you can make me come just from fucking me? No touch to my cock?”

Greg nipped at the back of his neck, just below the collar-line, with a growl, “Behave.” Mycroft’s words had certainly hit their mark, he was throbbing almost painfully, but Greg could play just as well. He pulled his fingers out and rubbed his cock up and down between Mycroft’s arse cheeks, smirking at the increasingly desperate sounds his lover made. He licked at a shoulder blade, scraped teeth over skin, sucked. 

Mycroft’s arms had given out and he was resting his cheek against the mattress, only his arse still in the air with his legs spread as wide as they would go. His heart was pounding as if it was trying to burst out of his chest and Mycroft _ached_. His hole clenched every time Greg rubbed over it and his prick was dribbling precome unto the sheets. “My fingers are starting to look more and more tempting you bastard...They...nnnnggghhhhh, they get the job done those nights when you’re on a case. I push them inside me then, spread myself wide and pretend it’s you.”

Greg groaned and licked reached down to hold Mycroft’s hips, “Do you now? Tell me when you come do you call my name? Do you scream it out like I love to hear? Are they enough to really take the place of this?” He angled his hips and pressed into Mycroft in one long, hard slide.

Mycroft let out a short, hoarse shout and shivered as he adjusted to having Greg inside him. “Nnnnnooooo, nothing can compare to you, to this. Please, please Greg...Move.”

“As you wish,” it was a husky purr that was soon followed by him pulling back, slipping out and out of Mycroft until only the tip of him was still inside, then he powered back into him and repeated the move. Slow slide out, fast and hard back in, his hands pulling Mycroft back into each thrust sharply. “God baby you’re so tight around me. Hot and tight and perfect.” He rolled his hips as he thrust in to brush against the sweet spot deep inside his lover.

Mycroft, groaned, grunted and moaned with every thrust. This was a side of him that was Greg’s and Greg’s alone. He would never even consider lowering his guard for anyone else but Greg had broken through all of his defenses, made him feel safe, treasured and wanted all at the same time. It was dangerous, feeling this strongly for someone he’d only been with for a short time but Mycroft couldn’t help the way he felt. “Mmm, you too, you feel so good inside me, touch me just right...so deep.”

Greg leaned down and pressed a kiss that was at odds with the rough thrusts on Mycroft’s skin. This man beneath him had a talent for pulling everything he was out into daylight, examining all of it and putting it back scrambled and messed up and knotted and Greg couldn’t imagine anything sweeter. Mycroft could destroy him with a few words but he was more than willing to risk that because it was worth it. “You’re coherent,” he nuzzled Mycroft’s skin, “I have to do something about that.”

He jerked his hips faster, in and out, slamming into Mycroft in fevered, hard movements, drawing sharp cries from him that had Greg shivering. God he loved making Mycroft cry out in pleasure. Loved to hear how much he was affecting his normally cool and composed lover. It was beautiful to make Mycroft fall apart in his arms.

It didn’t take much to drive every thought out of his ever active mind, Mycroft just rocked with Greg’s thrusts, feeling his whole body thrum and pulse as Greg pushed in and out of him. All he could do now was hold, on try to anchor himself in the sheets beneath him and try not to shatter. He knew he was fighting a losing battle though, the signs were already there, the tightening of his balls, the pleasure shooting down his spine, curling in his belly. 

All it took was one more drive of Greg’s cock past his prostate and Mycroft was coming, howling his head off.

Mycroft’s scream and the feel of him clenching hard around him set Greg following after with a harsh shout, a few short thrusts riding out his release, his hands clenching tighter on the narrow hips. He shuddered and slumped over Mycroft, tipping them carefully onto their sides after he pulled out and removed the condom, tying it off. He pulled Mycroft back against him snuggly, pressing a tender kiss to one shoulder and wrapping his arms around him. 

Even though his body was in limp noodle form, Mycroft twisted until he was facing Greg. Then he wheedled closer again and wrapped his own arms around Greg in return, pressing soft, lazy, sated kisses against Greg’s skin wherever he could reach without stretching. He was a fucked out piece of blissful goo and really too tired to even cuddle but still craving contact with Greg.

Greg chuckled and ran his fingers up and down Mycroft’s skin, “That what you wanted baby?”

“Oh God yes...Exactly what I’ve been craving. Thank you love.” Mycroft nearly bit his tongue off when he realized just what word had slipped out.

His fingers stutter in their stroke for a moment at that word but then he resumed the movements and chose to pull Mycroft closer, kissing his temple. “You’re welcome cariad.”

Something soft, warm and lovely settled in Mycroft’s belly hearing that and he draped himself across Greg like a boneless limpet, just enjoying the closeness and afterglow.

Greg closed his eyes and settled into the warmth of Mycroft and let his worries for the day slip out the door. Tomorrow was soon enough to stress over how the bloody hell he was going to help John.

oOo

Sarah stalked up the stairs of 221 to John’s flat and knocked softly, his file cradled protectively in her arms. She’d waited over night to come about this because she’d wanted to give John a stress free evening. She just hoped the bloody gorillas hadn’t come here.

John opened the door, a relieved expression spreading on his features when he saw that it was Sarah and not Lestrade. He knew he had to talk to Greg but that didn’t mean that he looked forward to it. “Come in.” He furrowed his brows as he stopped to look at her. “Are you alright? You look upset.”

“I’m irritated,” she stepped inside and looked around, heading over to the couch and flopping down with a long, exhausted sigh, setting the file on the coffee table, “and tired but that’s somewhat my own fault.” She studied him curiously, “And you don’t look like you’re in any better of a mood than I am. What’s wrong?”

“Oh fuck...Where do I start?” He sank down in his chair, one hand on his belly. “I never did make it to Angelo’s last night, got sidetracked by a stabbing, he died in my arms by the way. The yard came, Sally was a real shit fountain and I punched her in the face, would have done more if Greg hadn’t dragged me off of her...Oh but she managed to deduce I was preggers so now Greg knows too and after me punching her no doubt so does Mycroft. Other than that my evening was just peachy...How about you?”

She hissed, “Oh I swear I’m going to get my hands on that immeasurable _twat_ and rip her hair out. As for my evening, well my visitors at the door turned out to be the King Tit’s minions, asking that I pretty please give them your medical file before trying to barrel past me and find it themselves.” She snorted, “They soon learned their mistake.”

John gave her a slack jawed, wide eyed look before he cracked up and started giggling, giggling, completely unable to stop. “Oh Christ, I would have loved to witness that. I’m sure they jumped at their own shadow by the time you were done with them...And punching Sally...You have no idea how good it felt. It shouldn’t have, I should be ashamed but I’m not, I’m really, really not.”

“Of course you shouldn’t be ashamed. The bloody bint had it coming. I’d have done more than just punch her had it been me.” She got up and went to perch on the arm of his chair, smooth her hand over his hair, “And the gorillas certainly did limp away fast enough to report to their lord and master.” She sighed, “How did DI Lestrade take it?”

“He turned a whiter shade of pale and lost the use of his legs.” John’s lips twitched a little before he turned serious. “He thought Sally was talking out of her arse at first...Then he asked me if I really was a man and not a chunky woman with bound breasts...I miss him Sarah, I miss his friendship but I can’t trust him.”

She squeezed his shoulder, “I’m not going to try and convince you that you should. Unless you want me to?”

He shook his head. “No, if our friendship is going to mend, if that’s even possible then it is something I have to figure out on my own.” John was aware that he wasn’t thinking entirely clear when it came to Lestrade and his part in what had let to the final move at Barts but his heart and his head was at war and so far the heart was winning.

“Okay. So I-” she turned her head toward the door when the buzzer sounded, “Expecting anyone or should I grab a frying pan?”

“Speak of the devil I say, that is probably the Detective Inspector himself. I have his jacket and I sort of ran out on him without giving a statement after being rude.” John shrugged and got up from the chair to open the door.

Greg was coming up the stairs, having been let in the first door by Mrs. Hudson, and he looked up at John, smiling tightly as he finished clearing the final few steps. “John.”

“Greg, please do come up.” John was tense and felt awkward but he was trying, he really was. As they entered the flat he looked between Greg and Sarah. “I think you’ve met before but still, Sarah Sawyer, meet Gregory Lestrade and the other way around. Sarah is my friend as well as my doctor.”

Greg nodded, taking in her tired but not injured appearance with an awkward smile, “Dr. Sawyer.”

“Inspector,” she gave him a cool nod as he stepped in.

He looked around, noting a few changes but mostly it was almost the same way it had been when he’d had to come here to arrest Sherlock. Right down to the Cluedo board stuck against the wall. He scratched the back of his head, “I left your jacket on the hook downstairs.” He moved to sit on the couch. “Nothing’s going to come of the Donovan incident, just so you know. All the constables and witnesses say she swung first and she was drunk so,” he shrugged a bit.

“She wasn’t drunk at all; she was her usual horrible self...but thank you. In case it is you I should thank and not King Tit himself.” John raised a brow before walking to get Greg’s jacket. “I’m sorry; I think I got blood on it...Just send me the bill for the dry cleaning.” He took a moment to breathe. “Tea?”

“Yeah, sure, thanks. Don’t worry about the blood. It’s not the first and probably not going to be the last time it happens.” He settled his jacket in his lap and asked, “King Tit?”

Sarah crossed her arms with a smirk, “My petname for Mycroft Holmes.”

Greg’s lips twitched, he’d have to tell Mycroft about that when he saw him again. A text wouldn’t do it; he wanted to see his face. “Ah.”

John walked into the kitchen area, going through the motions, putting the kettle on, gathering cups, milk, sugar and honey on a tray. It felt a little surreal, Greg hadn’t been at the flat since Sherlock’s death and John didn’t know quite how to act. He was going to try for civil but other than that he had no clue. He thanked the fates that Sarah was there with him and that he didn’t have to do it on his own. 

“And after last night I dare him to face me in person, I’ll break that pointy nose with a frying pan.”

Greg coughed, “Er...”

“He sent two hulking gorillas to my home to try and strong-arm John’s file from me,” her eyes flashed in pure female insult and fury. “I don’t suppose it’s your division to arrest them is it?”

“Not technically no,” it took everything Greg had to keep from laughing as he imagined this itty bitty woman taking on and damaging Mycroft’s errand boys. 

“Greg’s division doesn’t concern you as long as you’re breathing; he’s only interested once you’re dead.” Okay so much for trying. John mentally kicked himself and busied himself with readying the tea. Once it was done he used one of the teapots Mrs. Hudson had brought up, John still didn’t really know why, and carried the tray out to the living room. “Sorry.” It was mumbled under his breath.

“It’s alright,” it had stung but John deserved to vent, not to mention being pregnant wasn’t likely to make it easier on his mood. “You’re entitled.”

“No...I’m really not and I do apologize.” He set the tray down on the table. “No matter what my feelings are regarding you and should keep my mouth shut. I’m no Sally.” 

“For which the world should give fervent thanks,” Greg muttered into the cup of tea he’d been handed, “More than one of her in one city would offset the rotation of the bloody earth with the big head and amount of hot air spewing from it.”

Sarah snickered, “Why work with her if you don’t like her?”

“I didn’t assign her to my unit, she got assigned to it by the Superintendent, supposedly to smooth my way with the media,” he took a bracing sip of tea, “and it’s been a fight since day one.” He shook his head, “Not why I’m here so it doesn’t matter.”

“Speaking of the Superintendent though, can he finally breathe through his nose now without making that high pitched whistling sound? John met Greg's eyes, faint amusement shining in his own, he did not regret clocking that idiot. 

Greg’s lips twitched, “Don’t know, he’s on ‘extended leave’ pending the internal investigation into his actions. He took all his saved vacation time to avoid having to deal with it in person. Donovan hasn’t had that luxury.”

"Poor her." John's voice dripped with insincerity. "So about last night then, it really went down the way I told you. I was on my way to dinner when there was a scuffle in an alley, the man called for help but I didn't get there until he had already been stabbed. I didn't see the culprit. The man talked about his wife and then he died, I can give you the step by step medical explanation about bleeding out through a liver wound if you think you need it."

“No, thanks. I’ve seen liver wounds before. Did he mention what jewelry store? If we can find out what he bought exactly we can put a watch out for hawkers with the pawn shops.” 

John thought about it. “No I don’t think he mentioned the name of the store but he did say he had just stepped out from it when he was pulled into the alley so it shouldn’t be too difficult to deduce what jewelry store is closest. Also it must be on route from his work, he’d stopped to buy his wife a bauble to apologize for having to work so much.”

“Alright,” Greg nodded, chest squeezing just a bit at hearing the word ‘deduce’ drop out of John’s mouth in the same manner Sherlock had often rattled it out. He looked around as he sipped on his tea, not really sure where to step that wouldn’t be a minefield of bitterness and blame. He frowned when he spotted the shot smiley on the wall, “You have a gun lock right? Or a lock box for the Browning?” He’d never let on that he knew about John’s gun so that question might come as a surprise to the other man but it was something that needed to be thought about with a baby on the way.

“What Browning?” The reply came smooth and calm and John hid the small twitch of surprise he felt at Greg’s comment behind the rim of his teacup. “If there were any hypothetical illegal firearms in this flat then yes, a lock box would have been acquired.” He took another sip of his tea, already quite a bit sick of the ‘healthy’ non caffeinated teas he was drinking these days. 

Greg shook his head, “You realize I’ve known about the bloody thing since A Study in Pink right? Sherlock didn’t exactly do a good job of convincing me he’d deduced incorrectly out of shock.”

Sarah looked between Greg and John then stared at her friend and patient, “ _You’re_ the one who shot the cabbie?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what the two of you are on about.” John was a picture of confused innocence. “If I did though, why would that be so strange? I was in the army and it wasn’t that long of a distance, couldn’t have been more than a hundred meters at the most between the buildings...Easy shot.”

“But you’re...John. Not to mention the medical corps aren’t supposed to participate in action.” Sarah studied him in vague surprise.

Greg just hummed, “There’s always been a warrior behind those fluffy jumpers Dr. Sawyer, and supposed to doesn’t mean much when bullets are flying really.”

“Even as a doctor, you can’t go to war reluctant to use your weapon, that’s a sure way to get yourself killed very, very quickly. Yes, I am a doctor but I am a soldier too and if I had been forced to make a choice between the two back when it mattered then I am not sure what that choice would have been. I liked the army and if I hadn’t gotten shot then I would still be there.” John was aware that it wasn’t the healthiest mindset to have, liking war. He didn’t like the killing, didn’t like to kill and he didn’t always agree with the politics behind the war but the sense of purpose, he did like that, the danger and the adrenaline...Well he’d always liked that.

Sarah rolled her eyes and gave John a hug, “You’re so damaged but at least you’re cute with it.”

“Cute with it? I don’t know whether to be amused or offended.” John’s lips were twitching though. “You know you have to be careful with me these days Sarah, unless you want me to burst into tears at the drop of a word, the hormones you know.” John didn’t do that but the expression on Greg’s face as he said it was priceless.

Greg fought the urge to stick his tongue out at John heroically, winning by a hair, “Oh well excuse me. I’m not exactly in my depth here you know. My experience with pregnancy has been, essentially, an observer while Cynthia went through the mood swings from hell. How am I supposed to know if a man has better or worse ones?”

“You think I’m in my depth then? I haven’t even been an observer, I was a bloody surgeon before I became a locum...What I have the joy of experiencing is all wonderful firsts for me.” That was why John was so extremely grateful to have Sarah, every time something new happened that scared him half to death, he could at least call her. 

Speaking of said woman, her shoulders were shaking with laughter, “You’re handling them well at least. And you know you could read the book, it may not be completely accurate for you considering physiology and hormonal differences but the basic growth of a fetus remains the same no matter the body it grows in.”

Lestrade had to look over at a window because really, the way she was talking made him think more of Alien chest bursters and not human babies.

“I did read the book and it freaked me out, must be written by pure sadists that one.” John made a face. ‘What to expect when expecting’ was now used downstairs in Mrs. Hudson’s rooms to keep her bookcase from tilting over, the best use possible for such a shite piece of literature in John’s mind. 

“You’re such a big baby,” she poked him in the cheek, “It’s a good thing Lamaze classes are out for you. You’d probably pass out during the birth video.”

“As any sane man should,” Greg remembered that video, talk about a horror film.

“Didn’t we just settle that I am a gritty soldier? And a doctor who’s used to having his hands inside other people? That said, I think I would rather get shot in the other shoulder than go to Lamaze class or watch that birthing video.” John shuddered violently.

“Wise man. Wise, wise man,” Greg finished his tea just as his mobile chimed.

“Looks like duty calls. Will you be needing me to sign anything?” John leaned back in his chair as Greg fiddled with his phone to read his text.

Greg’s lips twitched when he read the text, it came from Mycroft asking if Dr. Sawyer was pleased with herself. He sent back the simple answer of ‘Very.’ and got up, passing his statement pad over to John, “Just go over that then sign at the bottom if it’s accurate.”

“Hm,” John accepted the pad but his eyes were on Greg. “Not duty then, if anything at the Yard, especially in your division makes you smile like you just did then I would worry for this Nation...More than I do already that is.” He skimmed over the statement and signed his name at the bottom before handing the statement pad back to Greg. 

“Excuse me but there is one thing that I could get from the Yard that would make me grin like a loon I’ll have you know.” He shrugged into his jacket.

“Possibly but this was not that. This was the smile of someone smitten.” John stayed seated as Greg got ready to leave. Things were still not okay between them and John didn’t know if they ever would be but it was nice that they could spend time together without tearing each other’s wounds open. 

“Yeah, sort of recent development.” He tucked his phone back into his pocket, “If you need any help with heavy lifting or what all, baby proofing, whatever, you can call me, just so you know. I know I’m not high in your esteem but I’d eat a gun before I did anything to hurt a kid.” He hoped John knew that.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt a child.” John could continue that sentence but he really didn’t want to be the bitter man he’d become so he held those words back. “We’ll see, Sarah is pretty good with heavy lifting actually, I might just make her do all the carrying.” 

“Oh you only wish you could,” she ruffled his military short hair, “Especially near the end of it when you won’t be able to bend over or even see your-”

“Okay! Well that’ll be it for the day, just remember to ring me up if there’s anything I can do John. I’ll just...let myself out.” Greg didn’t care that Sarah was laughing at him as he retreated before she could finish.

“I was going to say feet.”

“Sure you were Sarah...Sure you were.” John reached over and pat her knee, a wide, amused smile on his lips. 

“It got him gone didn’t it? So mission accomplished. Now, on to the subject of the King Tit, unpleasant though it is.” She drank some of her tea, “What do you want to do since he’s probably found out your condition?”

John groaned. “Well since I doubt that ignoring him and hoping he’ll go away will work, maybe call a meeting. Iron a few things out. This child might be half Holmes but it’s all mine, I am not going to let him get any of his sticky fingers on my baby. Especially not considering what a stellar job he did helping and supporting his younger brother.”

She gave him a squeeze, “You have his number then? So we can knock it out all at once and get back to the important stuff?” She wasn’t going to let John have a meeting with Mycroft Holmes alone.

“I do have his number in my phone. I may not like the man but erasing his number would just be idiotic and a plea for him to stage another one of his kidnappings.” John leaned forward to get his phone from the sofa table. He sent of a text, not wanting to speak to the other man just yet.

‘We should talk. - JW.’

‘Agreed, I’ll be at Baker Street in 20 minutes. - M.’

John just snorted and showed the text to Sarah, not at all surprised that Mycroft knew exactly where he was.

She rolled her eyes, “Lovely. He can have cold tea and a stale cracker.” She got up to watch out the window for the described evil black car. “And the handmaiden can wait outside.”

“How very friendly and welcoming you are...I like it.” John couldn’t deny that he was nervous; he knew the power Sherlock’s brother had and he knew that Mycroft was not afraid to use it. 

She didn’t offer any soothing words as much as she’d like to. She might have kicked the gorillas out but they’d actively tried not to hurt her so it wasn’t really a win. She was vividly aware that if the bastard put on the real pressure they weren’t likely to win. She spotted the car and the King Tit getting out of it, followed of course by his handmaiden. She went to the door and waited for the knock.

Mycroft rapped his knuckles against the door shortly, merely raising a brow when it was the lady doctor who opened it. “Good day Dr. Sawyer, you are looking well. More than I can say for Avery and Stinson, I think they may actually require therapy after what you put them through. Set up appointments for them will you Anthea?” He tossed the last words over his shoulder at his assistant who nodded without looking up from the screen of her phone. 

“Well I’d thought we’d established that I don’t like bullies and I take patient confidentiality very, very seriously,” she moved aside just enough to let him in then closed the door in the texting woman’s face with a quick snap.

“Really now Dr. Sawyer, that wasn’t very nice.” Mycroft’s tone was lightly scolding but he fished out his own phone and told Anthea to wait in the car, only call on him if a serious situation arose. 

He walked into the flat, taking in the changes and more importantly the things that had stayed the same. John was sitting in his usual chair, jaw set and shoulders back, looking very much like the soldier he’d been the first time Mycroft had met him. 

“Neither is sending goons to my home because you’re irritated that I managed to get one up on you and keep John’s privacy just that, private, for a month.” She moved to pick up John’s file, taking it with her when she went to stand behind his wing chair.

Mycroft only waved his hand in the air in a dismissive motion. “They were told to ask nicely. Besides after Captain Watson’s heroics last night and Sergeant Donovan’s verbal diarrhea I think I am pretty much caught up...If that wasn’t the case you would never have called for a meeting in the first place.” 

Mycroft moved over to what had been Sherlock’s chair and sat down, ignoring John’s intake of breath at that. He crossed his long legs and looked at the united front in front of him. “Despite your beliefs John, I do consider you family, now more than ever. I am not a complete Monster, of course I will not be trying to take your child from you. It is however my niece or nephew you are carrying...If I see a threat against either of you I will handle it without asking or consulting you first.” 

John didn’t know what to say, the only thing he wanted was to plant his fist in the other man’s face...again. 

“Oh well done, yes that is exactly what someone wants to hear from family,” Sarah’s voice was sharp and mocking, “Sure I care, enough that I don’t give a flying fig about your opinion.” She glared at him, “You really make me want to hit you do you know that? This,” she gestured to him and his little power play with where and how he sat, “This isn’t what family does, not real family. You don’t order family around ‘for their own sake’ or treat them like they don’t have a mind and intelligence of their own. You bloody ask before you go around pronouncing things like the great King Tit you are.”

“You really are very violent for a doctor.” Mycroft hid his amusement at the nickname behind his usual mask. As far as nicknames went this one was rather inspiring. “Family protects family, sometimes unsuccessfully but it is what they do all the same. Luckily I don’t give a flying fig about your opinion either so we are in accord there.”

“Stop! Just fucking stop right now.” John clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms. “This is not some bloody pissing contest. I called you here to tell you to stay the hell away. My child, my friends, my rules. I am not going to keep my child away from his uncle, that’s not in me but no mind games or power play. I don’t need you Mycroft and I hope to God that I won’t sink so low that I ever will.”

Sarah put a hand on John’s shoulder and spoke softly, “Sorry John.” 

“Yes, I do apologize; I did not come here to upset you.” John might never believe it but he was one of the few, very few people Mycroft actually did care about. He took a deep breath, Mycroft had promised Sherlock to look out for John while he was gone and Mycroft intended to do just that. It would be counterproductive if his involvement made things worse for the man though. 

“If you wish it I will stay away. I promise I will not meddle in this. I am only a call away if you should need anything though. Sherlock left everything to you so you shouldn’t have any worries there. Don’t be too proud to use what my brother left you, if not for yourself then for the child.”

John only nodded shortly, he had not touched that money and he wouldn’t. He would set up a trust for his child instead.

Sarah bent down and whispered in John’s ear, “I hate to bring it up and admit it but there is one thing we might need his help with. I’m not a surgeon so...” she met his eyes and grimaced meaningfully.

John’s face twisted into an answering grimace but he knew Sarah was right. They would need help delivering the baby. With the placement of his uterus and his other organs it would be a slightly tricky surgery and John fancied actually surviving it along with his child. 

“I have exceptional hearing, do not worry, you don’t have to fall low enough to ask for my help. You have it anyway. I have a few surgeons on retainer and none of them will speak a word. Why don’t I sent Dr. Sawyer here a list and the two of you can decide together which one you feel most comfortable with?”

“I...Thank you. Yes, that would be...good.” John nodded again.

“Yes, thank you,” Sarah studied Mycroft with a slightly softer edge before shaking her head, “You are weird man,” it wasn’t hostile or irritated or in any way insulting, mostly baffled.

“I prefer multifaceted but I suppose weird works.” Mycroft got up from his seat, knowing that John’s good will would only stretch so far and it was best to quit while you were ahead. “The list of surgeons will be sent to you shortly so you have ample time to decide. If you should require anything then don’t hesitate to call...and John, do take care of yourself and the little one. I will see myself out.” He nodded to the both of them and left.

Sarah pursed her lips, “That man needs serious socialization training. I’m starting to wonder about the Holmes parents, I really am.” 

“Yeah, you’re not the only one.” John’s tense shoulders slowly relaxed again. “There must be some reason for such serious awkwardness besides from massive brains.”

“No kidding but at least he’s not going to be a hulking figure hovering over everything oppressively.” She stretched her ankles, “Hungry?”

John thought about it. “Yeah, I could eat.” It felt like a huge relief to have had it out with Mycroft, he wasn’t naive enough to think that the man wouldn’t meddle a little, at least keep tabs on his every move but he wouldn’t set out to take John’s baby and that was what he’d been most scared about.

She smiled, “Should I cook or do you want to go out?”

“Let’s go out...While I still can pull off the slightly chubby belly excuse. Besides you do enough for me as is.” John smiled back at her, reaching up to squeeze her hand.

She squeezed back, “Not really but I don’t mind the praise. Come on then Dr. False Beer Belly, I’m thinking some schnitzel would go over nicely.” Pulling him to his feet with a cheerful smile, she headed for her coat, slipping it on.

“Schnitzel it is then.” John walked down the stairs, happy to see that his jacket was on the hook where Greg said he’d left it. It was a good jacket and one he could still button around his slightly protruding gut. 

She kissed his cheek, “Great. I know an excellent German place not too far from here. You’ll hit your knees and praise God when you taste the food. It’s that good.” She bounced out the door then hooked her arm through his when he followed, suddenly relief over a lack of disaster making her almost giddy. Maybe Mycroft Holmes would be an asset rather than the worry she’d been concerned about.

**_To be continued…_ **


	4. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Four._ **

Greg peeled his jacket off and checked the hall, humming at Mycroft’s closed study door before he headed for the library. He sat down at the desk in the book lined room and pulled out paper and pen before starting what had become a bi-weekly habit. Writing a letter to his children. He wasn’t allowed to see them, his ex-wife’s lawyer having been ruthless and cut-throat and the judge having been one of Sherlock’s nay-sayers. He wasn’t allowed to see his kids or contact them in any way but he hoped that one day, when they came looking for him to spew bitterness and hatred over him for never being there, he could give them the letters and let them know he’d never stopped loving them, never stopped missing them, and would have been there if he could have been.

It was the only thing he truly hated his ex-wife and something that still stung along with the blame he shouldered in Sherlock’s death. As he wrote he thought of John’s situation, remembering how Sherlock had been around children. As much as the man had claimed to be a sociopath, he’d liked kids and certainly been kinder to them than he’d been to the rest of the world. He remembered one time, when Sherlock had come to his house, when his second had been around three months old and suffering from colic and Cynthia had gone to her mother’s house with their first son just to get away from the screaming that none of the medicine or old wives remedies had helped to soothe. Sherlock had just come by, never given a reason for it in all the time since, while Greg had been walking the floor with little Rick, singing softly in an attempt to coax him to sleep, and the next thing Greg had known was that Sherlock was the one pacing with the infant and rattling off endless facts about babies and colic in that rumbling voice. 

He’d watched in vague, exhausted shock as the man who barely managed to maintain patience enough to tell him what he needed to know about a crime scene had simply waited out the crying with him then kicked him out of the nursery and ordered him to get some sleep. When he’d woken his infant son had been cooing between short bouts of crying, laying comfortably on Sherlock’s chest, an expensive D&G shirt with the shoulder crusted with baby spit up. It had been a wonder and was one of Greg’s favorite memories of Sherlock. He didn’t even notice that he’d begun crying during the reminiscing.

Mycroft hesitated in the doorway to the library once he saw that his lover was crying. He knew how much the other man missed his children and if he could he would pin anything, anything at all on Greg’s shrew of an ex-wife to give Greg the children but he knew Greg would never forgive him if he did something like that so no matter how much he hated it he would have to let Greg handle this on his own. 

He didn’t handle emotions well, didn’t know anything about how to be comforting but he couldn’t just walk away when Greg was crying, maybe something had happened. Mycroft crossed the floor on silent feet and knelt next to the chair where Greg was sitting, wiping the tears from his cheeks with soft fingers.

Greg jolted a bit, surprised, but then he leaned into Mycroft’s touch, one hand lifting to wrap his own fingers loosely around his wrist, just for the touch, “Sorry. Memories.”

“Nothing at all to apologize for, just wanted to check that everything was alright.” Mycroft stayed where he was, his hands still cupping Greg’s face tenderly. 

Greg’s lips quirked in an ironic smile, “I was...my kids loved Sherlock and he was so good with them. I was remembering the first time he really interacted with one of them.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, “He let Rick sick up on his dark blue fancy shirt and didn’t even complain. He’d have been an excellent father and it’s just not right that he’ll never know his kid.”

Mycroft had to forcibly bite his tongue then to keep himself from blurting out Sherlock’s secrets just to chase away that horrible sadness from Greg’s eyes. “With John’s permission we’ll just have to be there to tell him or her about their father then, it’s not right and it is not fair but it is the best we can do.”

“I know,” he squeezed Mycroft’s wrist, “It’s stupid but it just hit me hard today. John’s not exactly happy with me and I don’t blame him. I should have been able to do something more.”

“John is unhappy with the world; he lost the man he loved. We all could have done something more, even John and certainly Sherlock himself.” Mycroft turned Greg’s face a little so that he could look into his eyes. “Don’t do that; don’t take on guilt that is not yours to carry. That was a terrible situation all around but it only was Moriarty’s fault, we all got played.”

“Moriarty’s and Sally’s you mean. If she’d never made those stupid accusations and fucked the Superintendent into following through on her conjecture report, Sherlock would still be at crime scenes pointing out where, when, how, and how many times she’d helped Anderson cheat on his wife most recently.” He sighed, “Some days it seems like she poked her nose into my unit just to try and prove Sherlock wrong.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed as his mind started to work at alarming speed. “It does seem that way now doesn’t it? And it was extraordinarily convenient that she was always there to start question my brother’s motivations...” 

Greg studied Mycroft carefully, “I said something that triggered one of your Holmesian brain leaps didn’t I?”

“It’s so simple; too simple...That’s why it is brilliant. Oh but he was clever, so very clever.” Mycroft rose from his kneeling position to pace the library, texting Anthea with nimble fingers, ordering a more thorough background check on Sally Donovan, all the way back to when she was born. “I’m sorry Greg but it looks like you might have to suffer her in her unit for a little while longer.”

Never let it be said that Lestrade hadn’t learned how to follow a Holmes’ mind on some things, “You think she was working with him, that she is and always has been part of his organization.” His jaw flexed and a fist clenched as anger rose and was banked. “Keep your friends close and your enemies’ closer right?”

“Exactly so.” Mycroft nodded, still pacing. He had to get this information to Sherlock as well, Sally was dangerous, even if she believed that Sherlock was dead for real, she also knew about John’s condition. There was no telling just how close she had been to Jim Moriarty himself or what kind of orders she had been left. He looked up and caught Greg’s eyes. “Can you be in the same room with her without pulling a John on her? I need to know if you can, knowing what she might have done.”

Greg nodded, “Oh yes I can do it. I’ve worked undercover on trigger cases before, I can keep from wringing her neck and make her think I’m mostly the same soft, easily trod on Greg as she likes to believe.” His own mind was working now as well, along a similar path to Mycroft’s, the main goal being to ensure John and the baby’s safety. John would be have his gun but be locking it up, he’d need something to buy him time if someone tried to surprise attack him. At least some sort of warning, preferably something that could detain the threat. He looked at the photo of his kids that he kept on the desk; they were clustered around a litter of puppies bred by an old friend of his. 

“The last thing you are is soft or easy to tread on, if she thinks so then she isn’t half as clever as I give her credit for. Still it could work to our advantage if she doesn’t conceive you as a real threat.” Mycroft put his phone away as he had finished texting Anthea. “We could be wrong of course and that she’s just a vindictive bitch but I don’t think so, it is all too neat.”

He got up and walked over to brush his lips over Mycroft’s, “We’re not wrong. Her evals alone should have had her back as a constable even with fucking the higher ups. Even if she’s not part of Moriarty’s men, she’s got all the makings of a dirty cop. Ambition, narrow mindedness, bigotry, and very loose morals.” 

Mycroft nodded and leaned in against Greg, still trying to plan ahead and think of ways he could get Donovan to slip up and reveal her game. “We’ll get her; I don’t like failing and I don’t like loose ends left behind, especially not such unpleasant one as Sally Donovan.”

He looped his arm around Mycroft’s waist, “We’ll tie her up.” He pulled his own phone out and sent off a text to that old friend, “And if she manages, by some unholy magic, to get past the safeguards I know you’ve already gotten set up and get near John, I’ve got an idea about how to slow her down long enough for John to take her out at the very least.”

“Good man. Together we’ll take her down.” It felt nice, actually more than nice to not have to fight alone for once. To have someone to lean on and who knew just what it took. 

Greg kissed him again then nuzzled his jaw, “Yes and I am going to treasure the look on her face when she learns just how well we played her into fucking up.”

“My fierce warrior.” Mycroft was beyond pretending that what he and Greg had together was only casual. Greg mattered and Mycroft wanted to be sure that Greg knew it. 

He easily read behind the simple three words and gave Mycroft a smile, “All yours, and always will be.” Mycroft was in his blood, heart, mind, and soul it seemed and he wasn’t intending to try kicking him out.

Mycroft hummed softly and leaned his forehead against Greg’s, tightening his grip on the other’s waist. “Not much we can do about the Sally situation tonight though, come to bed with me.”

“You don’t have to ask twice,” Greg reached out to pull the switch on the desk lamp and tugged Mycroft with him toward the bedroom.

 

oOo

 

Sarah tapped one finger on a name on the list, “I’m leaning heavily toward Dr. Weisz.”

John read Dr. Weisz credentials again, nodding slowly. “He has worked with a difficult births before, has had a long working life. Plus he’s ex military, can’t go wrong there.”

“Not to mention from the number of redacted clients, I’d call him discreet as a cabbie in the middle of a traffic jam.”

“Ugh, don’t talk about cabbies with me but yeah, you are right. Shouldn’t be surprised though, no matter what he’s like, Mycroft knows discretion and skill.” 

She pat him on the arm, “So, we’re calling Dr. Weisz?”

“Yes, we are calling Dr. Weisz. If he doesn’t freak out too much at the thought of delivering a baby from a man I think he’s our guy.” John gave her a smile.

“Appointment or over the phone to break that news?”

“I think a real physical appointment is the way to break this news.” He petted his belly. “Also being there will allow me to really see his reaction, it is easy to hide behind a phone.”

“Alright then,” she picked up her phone, dialing the number provided and handing it off to John.

“Dr. Bradley Weisz, who is calling?” It was a pleasant tenor voice.

“Hello, this is Dr. John Watson, I got your number from an acquaintance and since you are known for helping with tricky pregnancies I would like to set up an appointment as soon as you have the time.” 

“May I inquire as to the acquaintance?” 

“Mycroft Holmes.” Mycroft hadn’t said anything about not being allowed to use his name and since he was in all sense and purposes this doc’s boss, John used it happily.

“Ah, a matter of discretion then. I have an opening for an appointment next week, Wednesday at nine am. Is that agreeable?”

“That will be just fine, thank you for agreeing to meet us.” John meant it too, he hoped Dr. Weisz wouldn’t freak, he was clearly the best they could get and John wanted the best.

“Anyone who is given my private number, especially by Mycroft Holmes, is someone I’m more than willing to meet with. Young Mycroft does have a talent for steering the most challenging and charming patients in my direction.”

“I don’t really know if we’re talking about the same Mycroft Holmes here but I’m still grateful for your agreement to meet us. See you Wednesday then.” John shook his head, both at the young Mycroft comment and the charming patients one. Including himself, John couldn’t see that any of Mycroft’s acquaintances could be very charming.

“Wednesday?” Sarah already had John’s file open and was marking down in it.

“Yes, Wednesday at nine am.” John nodded, amused at Sarah’s efficiency. He honestly didn’t know what he would do without her and he didn’t want to find out.

“Alrighty then. It should be interesting to see his reaction. I hope he’ll be open-minded,” she pat his knee.

“I hope so too, he’s had a very long and successful career in medicine so he should have seen most things. Still there is never a way to tell what will be the thing to push someone over the edge of what they can handle. I just hope it won’t be me.” John reached up and rubbed the back of his neck in a slight nervous gesture.

“I don’t see how it could if he deals with Mycroft Holmes regularly,” she ruffled her fingers through his hair, “All kidding aside, I have a good feeling about Dr. Weisz.”

"I do too actually, he sounded very nice on the phone but I'll save the final judgement until I meet the man." He reached up and smoothed down his hair after his friend's ruffling.

She nodded and began making a copy of John’s file for the appointment. If Weisz had a good initial reaction it might help him wrap his head around the whole medical situation.

 

oOo

 

“He works out of his home.” Sarah eyed the full clinic annexed from what could only be called a mansion on an _estate_. Doctor were generally well paid but this went far, _far_ beyond well paid. “The man has a private clinic attached to his house...talk about keeping appointments private.”

“It also allows me to keep the patients I see off CCTV camera coming and going out. As fond as I am of young Mycroft I fear he is terminally nosy.” 

The tenor voice came from just to their right and Sarah turned her head to study Dr. Bradley J. Weisz. An older man, looking an extremely fit sixty something and reminding her somewhat of Anthony Hopkins, wearing a blue turtleneck, simple black slacks, and a kind smile that belied the sharp observation and cleverness behind spaniel brown eyes.

John didn’t startle but it was close thing as he whipped his head around to look at the good doctor. When he saw the older man he relaxed slightly, he got the feeling it would take a whole lot more that a pregnant man to get this man to freak out. Especially since he interacted with Mycroft on a regular basis. “I think nosy is putting it lightly when it comes to Mycroft Holmes. I’m Dr. John Watson and this,” He gestured to Sarah. “Is Dr. Sarah Sawyer.”

Weisz came forward offering his hand to them both, “Pleasure to meet you both. I must say that after your call last week Dr. Watson, that I Googled you. It was a familiar sounding name you see though not familiar for the reason I can already see you’re thinking.” After shaking their hands he simply stood, with all the manner of a man who looked able to stay in one spot in the middle of a hurricane. “I’ve often spoken with Violet regarding her sons over the years, especially Sherlock. It is very hard to forget the first difficult birth one attends to.”

“You delivered Sherlock?” John’s eyes widened. “I had no idea...Of course he was a difficult birth, bloody stubborn git already in the womb.” His smile was tinged with sadness. It seemed fitting though, that the doctor who’d delivered Sherlock also delivered his child.

“Yes indeed though if he’d been a bit less stubborn he might not have been at all,” it was said with a nostalgic tone, “Breech birth, a necessary emergency C-section to prevent deadly hemorrhaging for Violet, and a choking nuchal cord. There was a great deal of worry that he’d sustained brain damage from the lack of oxygen. Clearly that worry was resolved. Violet spoke quite a bit about her ‘trouble’ child and his miracle, her personal pet name for you Dr. Watson.”

John had no idea how to respond to that, he’d never met Sherlock’s mother, he knew Sherlock spoke to her at times but he rarely spoke about her. Well now the woman had probably taken that pet name back, a miracle was the last thing John was, he’d allowed her son to be pushed so far that he saw a step off the roof of St. Barts as his only solution. No nothing even slightly miraculous about that. 

Sarah reached over and squeezed his arm, “Dr. Weisz if we could-”

“Ah yes, of course. In we go,” he waved them ahead into the clinic, “As this is a consultation appointment I gave my admin/nurse/general sanity manager, Janice Majors, the day off.” He led them back into a warmly decorated office with comfortable, supportive chairs, “Please have a seat. Would either of you like some tea? I have an excellent Ginger-chamomile blend.”

Accepting the offer of tea, John sat down in one of the very comfortable chairs, Sarah in the chair next to him. “We are here to consult with you about a rather delicate pregnancy Dr. Weisz. I’m hoping you would agree to at least look into the case and offer us your advice.” John found it a bit difficult to actually get the words out, maybe he should just lift up his jumper and shove his belly in the poor man’s face.

The older man brewed the tea in silence, humming at John’s words, then carried a tray with the pot, cups, and some chocolate biscuits to the table in front of the chairs. “An unusual pregnancy then?”

“Very,” Sarah answered for John, “You might even call it extremely unusual.” She took the cup the doctor handed her, “Somewhat a result of a previously unknown medical condition.”

Dr. Weisz sat in his own chair after handing John a cup of tea, “The medical condition?”

“Chimerism.” John was happy that his hands weren’t shaking as he took the delicate china teacup from the other doctor. He took a sip and was very pleasantly surprised by the taste. Oh he had to ask Dr. Weisz where he got this; it didn’t taste at all like the tea he forced down at home these days. 

Understanding lit the gentle brown eyes, “Ah. Yes that would be a bit unusual.” He watched John for a moment, “Would I be correct in assuming the child is Sherlock’s?”

“That would be correct yes.” John nodded and took another sip of tea, relieved now that it was out in the open. “Of course neither of us knew about my...chimerism at the time. I’ve just entered my second trimester. So far the baby’s fine and my body seems to be able to handle the strain but as you can understand, every day is a worry. For the delivery I will need someone who knows what they are doing. That’s why I’m coming to you.”

Sarah took out the copy of John’s file that she’d made, “I’ve been looking after John since the discovery five weeks ago and with the help of a friend we’ve been able to have MRI scans added in with the weekly ultrasounds.” She slid printouts of the most recent ultrasound and MRI scan from the file and handed them to Dr. Weisz.

He studied the images, making doctor hums and little nods, “I see that natural birth would be possible but highly dangerous and not something I’d recommend. The uterus being behind the intestines is what makes it such a dangerous surgical prospect as well. You’ll have to be put on bed rest near the end, preferably at the beginning of the third trimester.”

“I know, it is something I’m prepared for though I know it is going to be hard.” John was an active person, always had been and being on bedrest was going to be a challenge but he was willing to anything to ensure the safety of his and Sherlock’s child. “Another issue is that I won’t be able to get around the city freely for much longer. I am trying my best to keep this under wraps, not wanting to be a British media wonder.”

“Yes, considering the rather disgusting actions of the media that is both understandable and for the best.” He noted the way Dr. Sawyer held the remainder of the medical file, like a mother wolf protecting a cub, and approved. Patient confidentiality was sacred, or at least it should have been. Far too many doctors didn’t think that way however.

“Will you accept John as a patient?” Sarah asked.

“Dr. Sawyer, I would fight any other doctor for the privilege of delivering Sherlock’s son or daughter. The Holmes family is part of what I consider to be my family and that includes John,” he looked at the other man, “If I may call you John?”

“Of course.” John nodded. Dr. Weisz really was the best and John was so happy and relieved to have him as a doctor but he felt it was a little under false pretenses. He was not part of the Holmes family, hadn’t met anyone other than Sherlock and Mycroft and he wasn’t exactly on good terms with the latter. Somehow he felt he would end up somehow disappointing the older doctor. “Thank you so much for taking me on. Sarah is my main physician and she’ll be with me on any consultations when possible, I hope that will be okay.”

“Of course. You hardly know me and you need all the people you know you can trust around you right now.” Dr. Weisz gave John a smile, “In your shoes I certainly wouldn’t want to be alone with a strange doctor poking at me.”

“Well, better a doctor than just a random stranger I suppose.” John gave a slightly nervous giggle and immediately wanted to kick himself, he was a doctor and a captain in the bloody army and he makes inappropriate jokes and giggles at them...Wonderful. “I’m sorry, really truly sorry. Feel free to poke as much as you need to.”

Sarah snorted then began to giggle herself as Dr. Weisz chuckled warmly.

“No need to apologize young man, laughter eases stress after all, which I’d say you’ve been under a tremendous amount of. Now shall we get down to brass tacks about consultation scheduling?”

“Yes let’s do that and thank you for not changing your mind on taking me on as a patient.” John gave a chagrined smile and focused on the task at hand. “I work at Sarah’s local clinic but I won’t be able to do that for much longer. As far as I am concerned, I can come at any time fitting to you.”

“Once a week, preferably, continuing Wednesdays I do believe,” he pulled out a Blackberry and brought us his schedule, nodding, “Yes, every Wednesday at nine if that works for the both of you?” He looked at Dr. Sawyer.

She nodded, “Yes.”

“And of course if at any time you feel there’s a problem or something you need to discuss then you are more than welcome to come by.”

“Thank you.” John took out a folded piece of paper with his e-mail address and phone numbers on. “I know most of my contact information is in my folder but still if you ever need to reach me these are the quickest ways, especially in a few months when I’ll be on bedrest.”

Dr. Weisz accepted the paper, “Thank you.” He programmed John’s numbers into his phone quickly then settled in with his tea before proposing that the three of them sit and talk, getting to know each other and going over what symptoms John was experiencing as well so they could start a smooth working relationship for the pregnancy.

Sarah grinned and passed the folder over to the older man’s side of the table, explaining how she’d kept it secret from Mycroft and surprising a laugh out of him. She was relieved to see her instincts about this man had been correct. This would make John’s pregnancy go much smoother.

 

oOo

 

Greg paused outside 221 and breathed in just a hair nervously. He hoped that John would receive his present well, especially after he’d already spoken to Sarah and Mrs. Hudson about the surprise he had with him. It had been a month since he’d contacted his friend out in Derbyshire about this and that month had been needed to polish the present up so to speak. He knocked softly and smiled when Mrs. Hudson opened the door with a beaming smile.

“Go right on up dear, he’s been busy fussing around the flat today, nesting,” she sparkled at the DI and the surprise he’d brought with him. That would do John a world of good, a companion to warm up the flat a bit.

John had just finished dusting of the flat and arranged and rearranged the pillows and throw he had on the couch. The larger he got, the more comfortable the couch was compared to his beloved chair. He had bitten the bullet and switched bedrooms, turning Sherlock’s bedroom into his, his and eventually the baby’s. It wasn’t smart to keep lugging up and down the stairs to go to bed or the bathroom when there was a perfectly good bedroom downstairs. It had been really rough the first few nights but he was slowly getting used to sleeping in Sherlock’s bedroom without him there. 

He straightened at the soft knock on his door frame and his eyes widened at the sight of Greg and especially at what was with Greg. “You’ve gotten a dog?”

Greg cleared his throat, “Actually, he’s for you.”

John blinked and blinked again. “What?” He looked from the DI to the pitch black dog at his side, tail wagging happily and tongue lolling out, a perfect picture of friendliness. “What are you on about?” John couldn’t help but to get down on his knees though, rather awkwardly and ungracefully to pet the dog though.

The labrador made a happy noise and licked John’s hand, tail going a mile a minute and making Greg smile. “Can we talk inside the flat? It’s to do with why I’ve gotten you a dog and a few other things, all a bit linked.”

Looking up from the dog, John took in Greg’s expression and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Just give me a minute to get up off the floor.” John scrambled back onto his feet even more ungracefully than he’d gotten down there. He was only four months along but he already felt as large as a house and about as limber as a house as well. “Come on in? Coffee? Tea?”

“Something cold would be nice actually. London’s heat wave is still hell for us poor bastards living here all our lives.” Greg came in, the dog already following John faithfully. “I’ve got bowls, food, a dog bed and crate, and all the other bits that come with him in my car so you don’t have to get any of it.”

“Yeah...” The word was drawn out. “Still don’t have a clue why you’ve brought me a dog.” One hand went down to rub at a velvety soft ear as he walked to the kitchen to pour both Greg and himself some lemonade that Mrs. Hudson had brought up earlier. “Here you are, please sit down.” He handed Greg the glass and walked toward the couch, rubbing his aching hip a little as he sat down.

“Cheers,” Greg sat down and took a pull from the glass, “Oh God that’s good.” He scratched his cheek, “The dog is first of all an extra bit of protection. Something that will buy you a little more time to get to your gun if anyone comes after you. Day I took your statement, after I got home and did a couple of other things you wouldn’t be interested in, what happened to Sherlock came up in conversation with...er...you know I’m half worried you’re going to clock me before I finish.”

“Nah, I’ve just sat down and getting up just to punch you seems like too much of an effort right now.” John sent Greg a look. “Not making any promises about not clocking you before you leave though, especially if you don’t get to the point soon. You can’t mention what happened to Sherlock and not finish. That’s not good.” Without thinking about it, John continued to pet the dog who was sitting right next to him.

“Okay, well then I’ll just come out and say it, I’m sleeping with Mycroft,” if he’d said that before Sherlock had swan dived off of St. Bart’s roof the choking noise John made and the look on his face would have had him laughing. As it was he was more resigned to getting a split lip, maybe a broken nose, “Sleeping and half living with him actually. So it was him I was talking to and I made a complaint about how Donovan’s report had been a big part of pushing Sherlock up onto the roof and how sometimes it seemed like she’d joined my unit just to get at Sherlock then Mycroft got that look,” there was a wealth of meaning in that one word, “The one that meant he’d just put something together, some little clue had fallen into place and now he could see the big picture clearly.”

“Sorry, still gagging slightly at the thought of you and Mycroft Holmes doing the dirty.” John wrinkled his nose. “So, if I am getting this right, you and Mycroft talked and figured out that Sally Donovan actually did join your unit to get at Sherlock, waited just like the spider she worked for, for the opportune moment to set things into motion.” John’s voice grew colder with each word he spoke. “You should have let me kill her. Still...why the need for extra protection? Sherlock is dead; I’m very much out of the crime solving circuit. Why would she come after me?”

“Because she still hates him and you’re carrying part of him,” Greg watched the dog whine a bit and gently nuzzle John, “And more, I know you haven’t bothered looking at the blog or anything but there’s a movement going, one that’s spreading and questioning and professing their belief in Sherlock. Someone recently found proof that the stories on Richard Brook were fabricated and every time something new is found or she sees graffiti sprayed in yellow paint on a wall that says ‘I believe in Sherlock Holmes’ or ‘Moriarty was real’ she gets a look on her face that sends chills through me.”

John was quiet, thinking about what Greg had said. The hand not petting the dog went to his belly. No way he was going to let that crazy bitch hurt his child, it was not on. “If any movement is going on it is because they are right. Moriarty was very much real. You’re taking a risk telling me this, what makes you think that I won’t just go find Donovan and put a bullet in her head?”

Greg nodded at the hand John had on the swell of his stomach, “Your child. Right now it’d be too much of a risk for you to go after her. You can’t move as fast or blend in as well as you usually do and you know it. And yeah I know I might be wrong and you’ll do it anyway but you deserved to know and to have fair warning.”

John heaved a great sigh, sinking back into the cushions of the couch. “No, you’re right. As much as I want to and I really, really want to, I am not going risk my child. Not even for the pleasure of killing Sally Donovan with my bare hands. Thank you for telling me...And for the dog.” John had already fallen for the black lab, damned his hormones and his soft heart. “What’s his name?”

“Sentinel,” Greg took another drink of lemonade, “Part of the bits and bobs that I’ll be bringing up is a list of all the commands and things he’s trained for but one of the biggest ones aside from the protection aspect is retrieval. Set up the fridge right and he can open it and bring you something to drink along with the towel to wipe it clean.”

“That’s...pretty amazing. You are a clever boy, aren’t you Sen? A very, very clever boy.” Despite the absolute hatred and sense of being powerless when it came to Donovan he couldn’t help but smile at the dog. “Thank you Greg, really. You are of course aware that I will spoil him rotten and ruin him for all others.”

“Well that’s also the point,” Lestrade grinned as the dog wiggled happily at John’s attention, “Sarah agreed to walk him twice a day after you go on bed rest though so you might want to make sure not to spoil him past her point of endurance. I had Jack add in a baby training course to what Sen was already learning so he’d be used to baby cries and all the madness that goes on round infants.”

“Clever indeed.” John chuckled as Sen licked his hand vigorously. “Really this is a gift that I don’t have any idea how to repay or even what to say. I guess I’ll have to settle for not clocking you...Sleeping with Mycroft must be punishment enough.” John sent Greg a grin, he was so sick and tired of being bitter and spiteful. In not too long he would be a parent and he wanted his child to learn forgiveness, perhaps he had to start with himself there. 

“Funny,” Greg rolled his eyes but the grin stayed on his face, “So how are things going in there?” he pointed at the belly, “You’re close to seventeen weeks now right, felt movement yet?”

John lit up. “Yeah, I have. It’s really difficult to explain, it’s a fluttery, bubbly feeling. Almost like having a carbonated soda going crazy inside you. Baby’s an insomniac, uses the nights for workouts, just like daddy.” He smoothed his hand over his stomach.

He chuckled, “Probably be just as stubborn too...no worse. The little nipper’s got a double dose of the stubborn gene, from Sherlock and from you.”

“Me stubborn? You sir, must have gotten me confused with someone else. I am as fluid and easy going as they come.” John did his very best to look wide eyed and innocent.

Greg burst out into full blown gut-busting laughter, “Oh God. I can’t believe you managed to spout that shite with a straight face. You’re easy-going alright, and stubborn as a bloody mule.”

John chuckled throatily. “I still say that I have no idea what you’re talking about. If I am stubborn at all it is because I’ve been around people in which stubbornness is the only way to get through.” He gave Greg a pointed look. It felt nice to be able to laugh with Greg again. John didn’t think they could ever go back to how things were but perhaps they could move forward, he would like that.

Greg settled down into chuckles, “Yeah well consider the people I have to deal with myself. Developing a stubborn streak was the only means of defense.” He relaxed; glad to have John off the defensive around him again. “You catch the match last weekend?”

“I did yes; did you see that referee though? I swear I wanted to reach through the screen and clock him. He couldn’t have been more partial if he’d worn the other team’s colors.” John scoffed and took a swig of his lemonade.

“I think I set new records in creative cursing and had to restrain myself from throwing my drink at the wall. He probably was wearing the other team’s colors, Team Twat pants.” He’d been so loud it had drawn a very amused Mycroft out of his office to offer to have the referee transferred to Siberia.

John chuckled and leaned further back in the couch as Sentinel settled down on his feet, tail still thumping lazily. This was nice, he stayed quiet for a while, thinking about what he was about to say. “Well why don’t you come here next match? We can yell at the telly together.” 

“I’d like that, I’ll bring the crisps and dip.” Outwardly Greg kept his cool but on the inside he was whooping and hollering, feeling like he’d just succeeded in battling a dragon with his bare hands. “I’d bring biscuits too but mine don’t compare to Mrs. Hudson’s.”

John gave him a wry look. “She’s my landlady dear, not my housekeeper.” They both knew that if Greg would be coming over for a match then there would be biscuits along with all sort of treats. Mrs. Hudson just couldn’t help herself and she’d gotten even worse since she found out that John was pregnant, spoiling him rotten.

He chuckled, “Bollocks, she’s neither. She’s Mum for all of us who pass welcomed through 221.” Greg did mean that, in every way. He loved his own mother but she was more of the hippie, free-spirit, let-no-man-hold-me-down type.

“True, that she is.” John nodded with a fond smile. He’d lost his own mother a long time ago, even before she really passed away so having Mrs. Hudson was a blessing. There was nothing that John wouldn’t do for her.

“A very tough, wonderful lady.” Greg lifted his lemonade in the direction of 221a in salute.

“Hear, hear.” John agreed and lifted his own glass, chuckling as it set off Sen’s tail again. He already felt at home having the dog there with him.

Greg just smiled and settled in to finish his lemonade before he had to go down to get the dog’s things, talking easily with John and pleased that Sentinel had gone over well.

**_To be continued…_ **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Five._ **

Greg stepped into his bullpen after his visit with John. There were no open cases at the moment but there was, unfortunately, paperwork and watching Donovan. Mycroft had eased the inquiry off just enough to put her at ease, giving her plenty of rope Greg truly hoped she’d hang herself with.

Donovan on her end was bored, bored and frustrated. With Sherlock finally gone she had no interest of hanging around as a sergeant in this dead end unit. As soon as she got the go ahead she would be gone, she wanted more out of life than this and she was going to get it. Moriarty may be gone, Sally actually wasn’t completely sure about that but it didn’t really matter. She had been taught to carry out his will and tend his legacy and that was exactly what she was going to do. Also she was going to get back at that blasted pet of Sherlock’s. Her jaw still ached from where he’d punched her. Oh she would get him alright, where it would hurt the most. Sally fiddled with her pen and prayed for something to happen, something that would get the ball rolling.

Greg wasn’t even halfway to his office when he got an alert from Dispatch, “Alright Donovan, get everyone together, we’ve got a body, top of the Jolly Hotel.”

“What is it with bodies and roof tops? At least the Jolly Hotel as a lift going all the way up.” Sally rose from behind her desk, grabbing her suit jacket and going to gather the gang, even Anderson. Why the silly man couldn’t understand that she was done with him now she couldn’t comprehend. She’d gotten all she wanted out of him; let his wife handle him now. 

It wasn’t long until they were at the hotel. Sally not managing the police tape for once stepped closer to the body, tensing when she recognized the black clad man. She’d met him in a few meetings with James. He was one of James’ most trusted snipers, one who’d had orders just like her. His were to keep watch over Lestrade, to take the DI down if anything out of order should occur. For him to have been taken out himself was worrying. Sally felt a shiver go down her spine and she barely resisted the urge to look around and she if she was being watched. 

Greg paced around the body. This was definitely what would have been one of the ‘weird’ ones he’d have called on Sherlock for, not only the location but the fact that there was a file pinned to the bloke’s chest with the knife that had probably been used to slit his throat. He crouched, looking closely at the knife. It was a Ka-bar Eskabar, good for concealment and Army quality. The cut across the throat was almost certainly the cause of death from the amount of blood soaking and drying on the man’s clothes and the arterial spray on the nearest wall. Deep, hard, and fast and then this file. He looked up as the ME came over, taking the pulse despite the obvious dead factor but then again there were routines and procedures for a reason. Then the liver jab.

“Our young man here hasn’t been dead very long, thirty minutes at the most.”

Greg nodded, “Alright. Donovan start a canvas of the building, see if anyone noticed someone suspicious leaving thirty minutes ago. Anderson, photograph and collect the evidence and please keep your theories to yourself until it’s all been analyzed.”

Anderson frowned and grit his teeth but nodded. He wasn’t nearly as happy with his life as he had been with Sally giving him the cold shoulder and Lestrade stomping down hard on his theories. He began doing as ordered though. With Sally not bothering with him there wasn’t much point in trying to be clever since he did actually like his job just the way it was.

Sally’s mind was whirring as she reluctantly followed orders and started canvassing the hotel, trying to scrounge up witnesses and speaking to the hotel staff about securing the surveillance tapes. She wanted to read what that file said. She had a very uncomfortable feeling about this. As soon as she could get a chance she would do some investigating of her own and find out what was going on in James’ web. Sally might be loyal but she wasn’t loyal enough to risk her own arse for a dead man. If things were going south then she would get out of here before things collapsed.

Greg made sure to keep Sally occupied. He’d seen the flash of recognition cross her face and he didn’t want her seeing what was going on before he knew what the hell was happening so he could adjust for it. Not to mention if she rabbited then he’d have to try and beg John to move in with him and Mycroft until she was caught and that was just not going to be easy or even successful. He managed to get a copy of file after it was scanned and examined six ways to Sunday by Anderson, to which he gruffed a good job before taking the copied file to his desk and reading over it. His brows drew together at the compilation of the dead man’s life, none of it particularly inspiring, the proof of him being a part of a larger organization, and the last listed job. It was the final bit there that had him pulling out his phone and texting Mycroft.

‘Just what the fucking hell is this about a sniper being set on my ass? - GL’

‘You think Donovan is the only one posted by Moriarty? The man was thorough.’ - M

Mycroft sighed. He had put it off for as long as he could but he had to contact Sherlock with what he’d managed to dig up about Donovan though it wasn’t much. By taking out the sniper after Greg, Sherlock might just have put John in terrible danger. He reached into his desk and took out the untraceable phone that he used for any dealings with Sherlock, attached the file on Donovan and sent it to his brother along with a short text.

‘Looks like the spider had another surprise, be careful.’ - M

Across London, where he’d just finished mixing up a special cocktail for the second sniper, the one trained on Mrs. Hudson as Sebastian Moran was the very devil to get to, an excellently disguised Sherlock Holmes went on ‘break’ to read the message he’d been sent. As soon as he opened the attached file he went deathly pale. He quickly replied, he couldn’t risk appearing just yet, not until he had at least de-fanged Moran, but if John was in immediate danger he’d risk it to pull him into hiding with him.

‘Is John protected? Is he watched? Is she?’ He didn’t sign the text, Mycroft would know who it came from and signing it was asking for trouble.

‘He’s protected and watched, so is she. Take care of business, it was just information you should have. - M’

If Sherlock emerged right now things would only go from bad to worse. Who knew what that would do to John and the baby? Mycroft just wanted to make Sherlock aware of what was out there. For now he would do his best to protect Sherlock’s precious ones without them knowing about it.

‘Second gun now convulsing. Only Moran left. Will return after taking care of him. KEEP JOHN SAFE.’ Sherlock closed his phone, set the second sniper’s file on a crate in the snug, and slipped into the alley, heading to the nearest hospital to borrow their incinerator for his current disguise. He was still focused but now, in the back of his mind, worry over John’s safety had nested and would be gnawing at him.

Mycroft didn’t reply again, instead he locked away the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course he would do his very best to keep John safe, for Sherlock’s sake and because he was honestly fond of the doctor. It was difficult though when the greatest danger John faced might not be an outside force. 

In the Met Greg was glaring at his phone and his cop’s brain was working overtime before he sent a reply to his lover’s comment. 

‘How many are on John? I’d like to know how many bodies with files I’ll be seeing. - GL’

‘One that I know of on John, one on Mrs. Hudson. - M’

Mycroft hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keys of his phone before he sent off another text. 

‘It is much to ask but please, trust me on this and don’t dig too deep. - M’

Greg stared at that text, a few dozen thoughts and theories going through his head before he answered.

‘Alright. If I get punched over anything of this though I’m going to be passing it on to you. - GL’

Mycroft breathed a breath of relief. Greg was his strength and his weakness; he would do absolutely anything, anything at all to keep his lover safe, no matter the consequences. 

‘Acceptable, besides if that happens we can kiss each other’s aches better. - M’

‘Keep that thought. I might be home late, another body. - GL’

Greg made an unhappy grimace then grabbed his summer jacket and headed out with the rest, keeping an eagle eye on Donovan just in case.

 

oOo

 

Sarah smiled and helped John pull on the concealing jacket, “Excited to find out if the tadpole’s a him or a her?”

John flashed her a smile before frowning as he looked down at his form in the lumpy jacket. “Very excited.” He stretched out his arms in front of him. “You know...This jacket does nothing but make me look fat all over instead of just my belly. Not to mention I look like a creeper wearing it when the weather is so warm.” 

She chuckled, “Well better everyone think you’re getting actually fat rather than the truth right?” She pat Sentinel on the head and handed his leash to John. The dog, being a certified service dog, got to go everywhere John was. It was a good thing and made her relieved because John was much lighter in spirit when the dog was around.

“Yeah, I suppose so. Just getting a little restless, it will be good to get out.” John smiled at her again, reaching down to sneak Sen a treat. He felt giddy with anticipation to find out the gender of his baby. “Let’s get going then.” John practically bounced on his feet, well in spirit anyway, he wasn’t quite as light on his feet as usual.

She grinned and started down the stairs. She didn’t really think she’d manage to catch John if he tripped but at the same time she might manage it so it was safer that way. Once they were on their way, the dog panting happily at having a car ride, she looked over at John, “You’re being careful right? What Greg said about those deaths...the snipers...you’re being careful?”

“When am I not being careful?” John grinned and pushed Sentinel back to the back seat when he tried to crawl to the front. “Seriously though, I am being careful, as careful as I can be staying at home most of the time. I’ve got Sen and I know Mycroft has some goons on the lookout; they aren’t as invisible as they think they are. Greg is stopping by a lot more often as well.”

“Okay. I know I’m being a worrywart but I can’t really help it. I just can’t believe the nerve of that evil little bastard though. I almost wish he was still alive so I could have a few minutes to put the fear of God into him.” She muttered a few more invectives against Moriarty, speak not ill of the dead be damned. “Almost, Him being alive would be too much of a pain in the arse for just a few minutes satisfaction.”

“Yeah but it would be nice to kill him again.” John shifted in the car seat. He didn’t like feeling so vulnerable. He’d always been able to handle himself, take care of himself; it was a lot to take in. It didn’t matter though, it was something he had to learn because someone else would always come first from here on out. 

“We’ll just have to pin his face to the effigies on Guy Fawkes night is all.” She turned the conversation to more pleasant baby related aspects, “Have you made a decision on the crib yet?”

“No, I had no idea there were so many models to choose from. Mycroft told me...through Greg that they still have the crib Sherlock at their family home but I don’t know...It could be nice but maybe it is time for something new. Something with no history, a fresh start there as well.” John pushed Sen back again.

She smiled and turned onto the long road that would lead to Weisz’s home and clinic, “You could just tell him to sit and stay you know. His training would make him obey. You need to make your decision soon though my hard headed friend. In another week you’ll be on bed rest and in thirteen weeks, give or take, you’ll be needing that crib.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll probably put it off until the last second and end up with an IKEA nightmare if I know myself though.” He made a face. “I love my baby and I want the best for him or her but goodness...Have you been a single fat man in a large jacket inside a baby store? I might just as well have a painted sign with the word pervert kiddie molester on my back.”

“That, John, is what they created online shopping for.” She turned the car into the drive of the Weisz estate. 

“Spoil my ‘poor me’ whinging why don’t you?” John nearly stuck his tongue out at her...nearly. After a bit of shifting and shuffling he managed to get out of the car on his own, opening the back door to let Sentinel out and hook the leash to his collar again. So far the lab had been on his very best behavior when they went to Dr. Weisz and John couldn’t be prouder.

“I consider it my sacred duty to keep you from wallowing and whinging.” She closed the car door and followed John and Sentinel into the clinic, chuckling at the stink eye the dog got from Dr. Weisz’s nurse. “Good morning Nurse Majors. Lovely day isn’t it?”

John could actually see the nurse’s nostrils fluttering as the woman did her best to keep quiet and not air her thoughts about bringing a filthy animal into the clinic. It was clear that she valued her job even though she didn’t approve on all the clientele apparently.

“Yes a very good morning, you are looking particularly charming today Nurse Majors.” John sent her his best doctor grin, fake as it could be.

“Through the doors, just sit down and wait and Dr. Weisz will be with you shortly.” Nurse Majors suddenly found something on her computer screen extremely important and engaging.

Sarah’s lips twitched and she walked with John to the exam room, just as cheerfully soothing in decor as the doctor’s office even with the medical set up, and took that chance to giggle and speak in an undertone to John, “Perhaps her husband sent her a love letter?”

“Really? You think so?” John wrinkled his nose. “I think she’s googling images of those buff blokes, modeling the Mills and Boon covers, you know like...What’s his name...Fabio. Mrs. Hudson adores him.”

“Ugh more muscles than brains.” She was laughing with John just as Dr. Weisz came in.

“Ah it’s a good mood day I see. Ready to find out if you’ve a lad or a lass John?” 

“Yes please, very ready.” John nodded, smiling at the older doctor. Getting Dr. Weisz as his doctor had been great, John really trusted him.

“We’ll go through the usual physical and then get the ultrasound set up,” Dr. Weisz listened to John’s heartbeat then the baby’s and went through all the usual exam before going over to a ceiling to floor closet and rolling out a slightly different ultrasound machine.

“Oh. Oh that’s a Voluson E8 Expert BT08 isn’t it?”

He chuckled, “Indeed Dr. Sawyer.”

“Oh you bastard,” it was good natured, “I’d sell off a foot for one of those.”

“No you wouldn’t, you’re much too fond of kicking arse to give it up by being one footed.” John teased her gently. “It is a gorgeous piece of machinery though.” 

Dr. Weisz brought the machine over to the exam table, “I certainly prefer it to the wretched static ultrasounds.” He plugged it in and powered it on. “You’d be surprised by the number of people who simply can’t believe they’re pregnant until they see a face.”

“I’m sort of scared about seeing a face though, what if the poor child has my nose?” John had already pulled his shirt up and unbuttoned his trousers inching them down a little to make room for the paddle.

“John you have an adorable nose.” Sarah tapped said nose with her finger, “Rounded and adorable, the perfect Irish nose.”

John just gave her a look at that. “An Irish nose is just another word for a potato nose and you know it Sarah Sawyer, don’t give me that innocent look because I know that you do.”

He startled and sucked in a breath of surprise as Dr. Weisz squirted some cold gel on his stomach, that sensation just didn’t get any more pleasant.

Sarah chuckled as Dr. Weisz began positioning the probe, “You’re just adorable when you do that you know John?” She squeezed his shoulder when he glared at her, “Sorry.”

“No, no need to apologize, just not too comfortable, it feels like ice snot spread out on your skin.” The gel was warming up a little from his body heat, either that or John was getting used to it. He looked down at his belly as Dr. Weisz moved the probe around.

“Hmm I believe, ah yes,” Dr. Weisz gave an amused chuckle and moved the probe to the side of John’s belly, “we can get the best view of the little one’s face from here. It seems that the baby had decided that lying sideways is the perfect position.”

“Well at least the baby’s still right now, that is not something that happens too often.” John chuckled but his eyes were glued to the tiny little face on the monitor. His child was beautiful; it didn’t matter if the baby would end up with his nose because it was already the most beautiful child in the world. His heart was bursting with love for the small creature inside of him, though it was clenching too because he was experiencing it without Sherlock.

“Oh just look at that sweet little face,” Sarah gave John’s shoulder another squeeze. She definitely spotted Sherlock’s cheekbones on the baby even this early on. The baby made a little jump and then another one, mouth opening, “Ah hiccups!”

Dr. Weisz chuckled, “Quite so.”

It was such a strange sensation, both feeling the little jumps inside him and watching it happen on the monitor. As he watched the baby made sort of a frowning face and even this early and through the ultrasound it was a pure Sherlock expression and John felt his breath hitch for a second.

Sarah heard the hitch in his breath and her heart hurt for him, literally just twisted in her chest. To bring his thoughts away from the sadness she asked, “So, we going to find out if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Dr. Weisz nodded and moved the probe down a bit, chuckling, “Well that’s certainly definitive. Nice of the baby to cooperate.”

“Whoa, he have to be careful not to poke himself in the eye with that thing.” John’s eyes widened as he watched the monitor, his heart beating faster. A boy, he was having a boy. In a split second everything became completely real, he was carrying a son. 

Sarah smiled as Dr. Weisz obligingly moved the probe up to the face again, “A little boy. Congratulations John.” She squeezed his shoulder again. “Your military reflexes will certainly come in handy during nappy changes.”

John chuckled, still feeling in awe and giddy. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. He knew that the baby inside him was part him and part Sherlock but all he could picture was a tiny little Sherlock. Of course it didn’t matter what he would look like or be like, John already loved him with everything he was.

Dr. Weisz saved several images to print, “He’s absolutely healthy and fortunately not pressing against your pelvic bone, which has been my biggest concern.” He watched the baby make a kick and chuckled, “And he’s active. I’ll be making house calls once you go on bedrest to help keep stress levels down.” He froze the image on screen and then set about cleaning the gel off John’s stomach. “With Dr. Sawyer’s help I’d say we’ll have a full term, February delivery.”

Just a little over three months left, three months and then John would be a parent. Christ, wasn’t that a scary thought? Scary and wonderful too. “I’ll do everything I can to make it a full term, stay still, be on bedrest and have Sen help me.” The dog thumbed his tail happily at the sound of his name. John chuckled at him and hitched his trousers back up and fastened them before pulling his jumper back down. 

Dr. Weisz sent the images to print. “Will you be giving Mycroft a copy of one of the images? Or is he still in the metaphorical dog house for his high handedness?”

“Mycroft is my baby’s uncle, I may not approve of everything or even a little of what he does or chooses to act but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s family. So yes, I will give him a copy, him and Greg.” John pat his belly fondly. “Oh can you make an extra copy please, I want my friend who helped get the MRI to have one as well.”

“Not a problem at all young man.” 

Sarah watched Dr. Weisz move around efficiently as john hopped off the exam table and clicked his fingers to bring Sentinel to his side, the dog obeying quickly and eagerly to nuzzle John’s thigh. “Do you have the directions to John’s flat for next appointment?”

“Yes indeed I do Dr. Sawyer and if I happened to lose them, well Mycroft can make himself of use and send a car then.” He turned and handed the printouts to John. “There you are.”

“Thank you so much, for everything. I know house calls aren’t really something you do so I really appreciate it.” John held the printouts carefully, to him they were a great treasure and he wanted to keep them safe. 

“I make house calls when necessary, when my patient is on bedrest it’s necessary.” He pat John on the shoulder with a warm smile, “Especially as I wouldn’t dare risk Dr. Sawyer’s wrath. I believe the two young men who attempted to strong arm your file from here are still seeing that therapist.”

Sarah just grinned unrepentantly.

“Maybe they’re seeing Ella; if they are they will be stuck for life.” John had gotten a doctor’s note so to speak so he was finally free of therapy. He didn’t even want Ella to know about his pregnancy. Maybe it had something to do with his trust issues that she went on and on about. “Then again, Sarah can be truly frightening when she wants to be. Before this is over you and I might need therapy as well.” He winked at Sarah.

“Just so long as you get a different therapist,” she rolled her eyes in disgust, “I hate to agree with the King Tit about anything but Ella is useless for you John.” 

Dr. Weisz chuckled and opened the exam room door for them, “I’d consider myself a sorry man to need therapy just from spending time around a charming, strong spirited colleague. Ah Janice, tea! Thank you,” he accepted the cup from the nurse.

“You are very welcome Dr. Weisz.” Janice Majors was all sugar and sweetness when it came to her dear doctor. Then her nostrils did that weird flaring thing again when she looked at Sentinel, John and Sarah. It made it difficult for John to restrain his amusement. 

“We will leave and let you enjoy your tea in peace before your next patient. Thank you again.” He took a hold of Sentinel’s leash and let Sarah help him back into the perv alert jacket.

“Have a safe drive. I’ll see you next week.” Dr. Weisz’s eyes crinkled at the corners as they left and he turned to discuss a few things with Janice Majors.

**_To be continued…_ **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Six._ **

Molly stepped outside into the alleyway and walked the short distance to a little park that had been set up for St. Bart’s staff ages ago so they could have a pleasant spot for lunch. She spotted John in his poufy jacket and beamed, picking up her pace. “Hello John,” she leaned in to kiss his cheek, “You look wonderful.”

“You are such a liar Molly Hooper but thank you anyway.” John smiled and wrapped his arms around her slender frame. “You on the other hand, look absolutely gorgeous. I really like your hair that way.” There were no big changes that Molly had done; she just looked softer and more confident in some way. Whatever it was, John approved. “Thank you for meeting me here, I just wanted to give you this.” He pulled out a copy of the printout and handed it to her.

“Oh!” Her face lit up and her fingers started tracing the little features, “Look at that,” she glanced up at John’s face, “Boy or girl?”

John beamed at her. “Boy.” It still felt surreal saying it out loud but it was quite a thrill too.

“He’s adorable and those are very much his daddy’s cheekbones,” a bit of sadness flirted with her lips before she firmed them up into a brighter smile, “But that chin there is all you John. Almost already has the little dent there.” She gave him a one armed hug, “He’s so beautiful.”

“He is, isn’t he? The most beautiful baby boy in the world.” John’s voice was soft but pride bled out his every pore. He knew he was biased but really, how could he not be? He reached down and petted Sentinel who was keeping vigil by his side. 

“Thank you so much for bringing me a copy of the ultrasound.” She looked down at the dog and ruffled his ears, “And you and the little one are going to just be best mates aren’t you, you gorgeous thing?”

Sentinel practically attacked her hand with licks at the kind words. He really was the friendliest thing you could think of, as long as John was relaxed and friendly. If John sounded even the slightest bit unsure, speaking to someone, or if he didn’t know the person, Sen went directly into protective mode. “Oh I can only imagine the trouble they will get into together.” 

She chuckled, “Prepare to always lock the desitin up. I remember my Mum complaining about me painting the cat at one point too. Apparently I thought it needed to be pink.”

“Well there are a distinct lack of pink kitties in the world.” John agreed with a grin. “I must say that I am impressed though that you could do it without the cat scratching the life out of you.”

“I know. Mum used to call her God’s most patient cat. She was just one big fluffy white ball of love really. I carried her around like a baby doll, last I saw her Mum still had albums full of pictures of just me and the cat and this was before digital.”

John smiled at her and reached out to run his fingers over her cheek. “Sounds like both you and the cat were very much loved, just like it should be.” 

She smiled back at him, “Just as loved as you already love this little man,” she tapped the edge of the picture, “Have you been thinking about names?”

“A little, though nothing definite. I want to carry on the tradition of unusual names...Though perhaps not to the point of Mycroft...I can’t be that cruel to the poor kid.” John gave her a crooked smile. “It’s....difficult, deciding on your own. I will find the right name though, I know I will.”

She felt a little spike of guilt as always, knowing that Sherlock was out there and should _be_ here with John, arguing about names and deducing a thousand different things from the ultrasound. She reached over and squeezed John’s hand, “You will. Because no one knows...knew Sherlock better than you.”

John shook his head. “No, I thought I knew him, maybe but I didn’t. I didn’t know him at all because the Sherlock I thought I knew would never have thrown himself off a roof like that. Not with a hell of a better reason than being called a fraud.” He breathed deeply, not wanting to get into this. He was fine, well better anyway and this was supposed to be a happy meeting. “I’m sorry Molly. I should go home. Thank you so much for your help earlier and for being a friend.”

She kissed his cheek again, “Okay. Thank you again for bringing the picture. You go home and rest. And remember if you need anything, I’m just a phone call away.”

“I know, that goes the other way around as well. If you need anything or just want to talk, feel free to call or come over. You are always welcome.” John gave a low whistle that Sen alert and ready to go. “Take care, find a bloke. You’ll make him the happiest man in the world.”

“I’ll work on that,” she waved until John and the dog disappeared into the crowd then looked down at the ultrasound picture. “Sherlock the things you’re missing.” She shook her head and wished again that Sherlock could come home soon.

 

oOo

 

Greg rolled his shoulder where he’d wound up tackling a druggie built like an American football linebacker during a pursuit. The bastard hadn’t even needed to run, all he’d wanted was to ask him about the man seen exiting the bar which the second sniper had been poisoned to death in. But no, the idiot had run, because of the drugs in his pocket, and Greg had given chase, tackled him, and nearly dislocated his shoulder in the process. It hurt like a bitch but at least he was home now.

He looked into the hall and smiled when he saw Mycroft’s office door open in unspoken invitation, which was quickly accepted. His lover was looking down at something with a bemused, half charmed smile on his face and he eased his hip onto the desk corner, “What’s this then?”

“My nephew.” Mycroft sat a little straighter in his chair and eased to the side so that Greg would be able to see properly. “Handsome fellow I think, the Holmes’ genes are clearly coming through.” He tore his eyes away from the ultrasound image and looked his lover over. “You alright?” He placed a worried hand on Greg’s thigh.

“Mm? Yeah I’m alright. Hard take down, I’ll just have a stiff shoulder for a day or two is all.” He leaned in to peer at the ultrasound picture, “God he’s almost all Sherlock isn’t he? Except for the chin, that’s pure John but the rest...” he shook his head, lips tilting up, “I think I see a mini chemistry set in John’s future.”

“Yes, I think that will be a distinct possibility. Hopefully though it will take a few years at least for him to have worked himself up to bodyparts in the fridge.” Mycroft ran a long finger over the picture. “I’ll give that shoulder a rub down later; we should get it to feel a bit better.”

Greg turned his head to brush his lips over Mycroft’s temple, “You do have a magic touch.” His hand covered Mycroft’s on his thigh as he continued to study the picture. “I’ve been scheming with Sarah and Mrs. Hudson by the way.”

“Oh? Is this scheme going to get either of us punched or hurt in any way by a hormonal ex army doctor?” One brow rose in curiosity and a little amusement. 

“Well hopefully not. Christmas is right around the corner and none of us think that John should be there in the flat on his own for it. So we’re plotting a Christmas party.”

“Christmas?” Mycroft had forgotten the Holidays were coming up; he’d never been big on celebrating, not since he reached adulthood anyway. “I think a Christmas party can be very nice, especially considering that John is on the dreaded bed rest now.”

“That’s what Sarah thinks too. She knows he’ll be going spare plus the memories of Sherlock that’ll be popping up every five seconds. He’ll need the distraction and it’ll be good for all of us in the know about the baby.” 

Mycroft nodded even though he couldn’t help but think of Sherlock, wondering how his little brother would spend this Christmas. Mycroft wished he could come home, that he didn’t have to be alone...Wished there was more he could do to help him. “Why don’t we make it into a little of a baby shower as well? Help John stock up on the things he’ll need.”

He lifted a hand to play with the soft hair at the nape of Mycroft’s neck, “We’re on the same page. The ladies pouted when I made that suggestion and have been trying to make a case for a separate baby shower so I’m going to rely on you convincing Mrs. Hudson that it’s not good for John’s stress levels while I work on poking Sarah to realize that John isn’t going to want a second party, especially not after the holidays.”

“No, I can’t see that he would be in a very festive mood. January sixth is...was Sherlock’s birthday, plus it was the month they met. Things will be rough on Dr. Watson after the holidays and a party would be the last thing needed.” Mycroft felt that twisting sensation in his gut again. He really, really did not like this guilt thing.

“I remember that,” Greg’s lips curved up a bit, “Sherlock’s insistent ‘He’s with me.’ and John just being quiet and unassuming and looking at me politely, not wanting to trod on my authority,” he made a soft laugh, “Then the way he didn’t even know he was speaking out loud during Sherlock’s tangent. That was the first time I’d ever seen Sherlock surprised, when John said ‘Brilliant’ and ‘Fantastic’.”

“First time Sherlock actively tried to impress someone as well. Showing off like some peacock.” Mycroft smiled a little. “That was when I knew I had to have a conversation with Dr. Watson. Spine of steel underneath those cuddly jumpers.” 

“Well he was in the Army and on the front lines, made it to Captain. Takes a lot of strength of spirit to be a commanding healer on the front lines of a battlefield.” Greg grinned, “It’s always fun to watch people underestimate John too.”

“You are a strange man Gregory, a strange man indeed.” Mycroft chuckled throatily. He did understand what Greg meant though, he himself was always underestimated, in fact he strived to be underestimated in all aspects but it was still fun outsmarting everyone around him.

“Good, you’d get bored with someone who wasn’t at least a little strange.” He tilted Mycroft’s head up for a kiss. 

“Mmm, true.” Mycroft whispered it against Greg’s lips before he took hold of the other man’s tie to pull him more firmly against his mouth, deepening the kiss. “Now let’s go get that shoulder taken care of.”

“Gladly.” Greg let everything but Mycroft’s mouth and hands fade from his mind. He could worry later.

 

oOo

 

Molly climbed the steps to 221b and knocked, smiling brightly and giving Mrs. Hudson a hug when she opened the door and let her in. 

“Oh don’t you look lovely dear,” Mrs. Hudson stepped back to let Molly come further in, “You’re the last to arrive. Mycroft is doing his best to ignore the fact that Sentinel is looking at him like a chew toy and John’s obstetrician is trying to coax his nurse into singing carols with him.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Molly pulled off her coat, hanging it on the hook behind the door, her pretty red jumper and dress jeans keeping it casual and festive. She hadn’t wanted to wear one of her dresses and remind John of last Christmas. She carried the bag with all her presents in it to the living area, where John was seated in his chair at the center of everything and Sentinel next to the chair was indeed staring at Mycroft.

Mycroft stared back, not daring to take his eyes off of the black beast. The moment he turned away the animal might maul him. 

John found it all very, very amusing. Sentinel would find himself with an extra treat or two today. It took a lot to make Mycroft Holmes look that nervous, it deserved praise.

Molly covered her mouth to keep from laughing at Sherlock’s brother, something she noticed Greg was struggling with as well, and walked over to bend down and hug John, “Merry Christmas John.”

He hugged her back as best he could from his sitting position. “Happy Christmas Molly, it’s great to see you here.” It was nice having people around, it kept the darkest thoughts away. Plus he was allowed to sit up, that alone was a Christmas present. He wondered though how Dr. Weisz had managed to get the formidable Janice to come along with him, it was clear the nurse would rather be anywhere else but where she currently was.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” Molly looked up when Sarah called out for her help in the kitchen, “Are you sure you want to risk me in the kitchen Sarah? I’m really awful, no joke. I did literally burn water once.”

Sarah blinked from where she was peeking around the entrance to the kitchen, “You burned water? How is that possible?”

Molly shrugged. She could have actually told Sarah, because once when she’d mentioned it to Sherlock he’d broken down how it was possible in seconds, but she wasn’t going to bring up Sherlock here and now. “Greg’s an excellent cook though.”

“Alright then, Lestrade in here, now, this turkey is a heavy thing.”

Greg gave Mycroft’s hand a squeeze, “Yeah alright. Molly why don’t you sit and keep my Government company until I finish helping Sarah get the turkey sorted.”

“Oh, um yes alright.” In her nervous rabbit way, Molly made her way to sit beside Mycroft. She knew he’d not actually seen Sherlock since the jump off the roof, no one else really had, but sometimes Sherlock needed patching up and he came to her for it. And if anyone was going to guess about the fact that she had actually _seen_ Sherlock, it would be Mycroft.

Mycroft glanced sideways at the young woman next to him, keeping one eye on the slobbering beast sitting besides John, still eyeing him like he was a juicy steak. He leaned in so he could speak softly into a delicately curved ear, keeping his voice low enough that only Molly could hear him. “Thank you.” Nothing else needed to be said about that, she would know what he meant. 

Then he slipped back into his usual persona, arching a brow and raising his voice a little again. “Contrary to popular beliefs I do not actually eat Pathologists for Christmas dinner, no need to be so nervous Dr. Hooper.”

“No, you have no need to worry Molly. Mycroft here only has a taste for a certain Detective Inspector.” John grinned.

“Do you really want to go there John?” Mycroft’s voice was very, very smooth.

“Um...no.”

“Wise decision.” 

“Oh stop that you two,” Mrs. Hudson swept past going into the kitchen, “You really should follow the examples of the season.”

Dr. Weisz laughed, “Martha is quite right, peace on earth and goodwill to man after all.” He sat down on Molly’s other side, all jovial goodwill, “Hello Dr. Hooper is it?”

“Yes,” she smiled and offered him her hand, which was kissed on the back with gentlemanly flare, “But you can call me Molly, most everyone does.”

“Molly then, and you should call me Bradley. You must be the wonderful friend that assisted John and Dr. Sawyer with the MRI.”

She ducked her head shyly, “I don’t know about wonderful but yes.”

“Nonsense, you risked your job to help a friend, that’s wonderful.”

“Dr. Weisz is right, it is wonderful Molly, well above and beyond any friendly obligations and I really do appreciate it. Adore you even.” John smiled at her, a hand going to the side of his stomach, where his little boy seemed to have some sort of kicking competition.

She turned a brilliant pink and forced the thought of just how little John would adore her once Sherlock came back and he realized how much she’d kept secret from him from her mind in favor of whipping out her camera and taking a picture of him, “The baby moving?”

“Mmmhmm, quite active this bloke. Right now it feels like he’s training for some big kickboxing tournament.” John had never liked having his picture taken but this was different, maybe he would even ask Molly for a copy later on, to have something to show the sprog as he grew.

Greg’s voice rose from the kitchen, “With your kidneys if memory serves.” That prompted chuckles from almost everyone, “How goes the name game by the way?”

“Sherrinford is a proud name from Mummy’s side of the family.” Mycroft spoke up as he crossed his legs and continued his surveillance of the shifty canine.

“I really hope that is a joke Mycroft, as much as I want a name with meaning I don’t want him to get his arse kicked on the playground, not even if I teach him how to kick back.” John wrinkled his nose; Sherrinford was not a favorite name, maybe as a second name that he could live with it...maybe. “I have a few names floating around but I’m leaning toward Benjamin...Benjamin Johannes.”

Molly blinked then started giggling helplessly, “After Franklin and Kepler?”

John grinned at her, happy that she got it. “Yup, after Franklin and Kepler.” John had thought long and hard about names, and thought that Sherlock would have approved of these for a son, at least John hoped so.

“Okay,” Greg came back in, having been shooed out of the kitchen by the ladies with a tray of nibbles. He set the tray down within John’s reach and went to sit on the arm of the couch next to Mycroft, “For the less well informed among us, who is Kepler? Even I know who Franklin is.”

Molly continued to giggle, “Seventeenth century mathematician,” she giggled louder, “Astronomer and astrologer.”

Greg snorted, “I’m guessing he was a big deal?”

“Very much so, being a mathematician, working close with both other scientists and even royalty. He worked out that the planets moves around the sun not in a round orbit but an elliptical one.” John sent Greg a wry look. “Mostly though I chose him because Sherlock didn’t know the earth revolved around the sun...spectacularly ignorant.”

Greg snickered, “Both a salute and a raspberry. Good show.”

Molly finally managed to get a lid on her giggles but they almost started up again when she thought of what Sherlock would think when he came back. If he hadn’t deleted the name Johannes Kepler from his mind. She cleared her throat to keep from dissolving into laughter again, “It’s a lovely name.”

Sarah came out of the kitchen with punch, “Yeah but watch him wind up being called Benny-Jo.”

Mycroft’s lips pursed at that and he looked honestly puzzled. “Why on earth would anyone call him Benny-Jo? Benjamin is a perfectly sound name on its own without being shortened.”

Janice nodded, fawning over Mycroft almost as much as over Dr. Weisz. 

“Yeah and it’s a mouthful to call a teeny tiny baby,” Greg smiled at his lover, tangling their fingers together, “Mark my words that kid is going to get a nickname eventually. Happens to most people. Like how Joseph, Richard, and Gregory become Joe, Rick, and Greg or Margaret becomes Molly.”

“Gregory Lestrade how dare you!” Molly grimaced, “Ugh where did you learn that?”

“Well aside from the well of creepy information sitting next to him, your full name is on your reports Molly.” John grinned at her. “As a DI working homicide, I think Greg’s read a few of them.”

“I hate that name. It’s a horrible, horrible name,” her nose wrinkled.

“Baroness Thatcher would be disappointed to hear that,” Sarah sat down on the floor comfortably.

“I bet she didn’t like her name much for a long time either though,” Molly stuck her tongue out at Sarah, “It makes me think of great big German barmaids smacking the idiots who get handsy.”

Greg choked on air and began to laugh.

Mycroft just blinked at her in confusion. “Margaret is a lovely name.”

“Yes it is.” John agreed. “And imagine the success you would make at Octoberfest with it, lots of handsy Germans there.” John was having a great time, spending time with friends, teasing and laughing, he was even friendly toward nurse Majors. “Oh by the way, where do you have Anthea Mycroft?” 

“She’s enjoying a day off...She was quite worried that Dr. Sawyer would make her sit in the car again if she came.” 

“Oh poor thi-ow!” Sarah rubbed her arm where John had kicked her lightly, “What I’m not allowed to be petty anymore?”

Mrs. Hudson answered that, “It’s Christmas dear!”

Greg studied Sarah, “You made Anthea sit in the car...how did you manage that?”

“Shut the door in her face...more like in her phone really.”

Molly blinked, “Um, why?”

“I just don’t like her,” Sarah shrugged.

“Well that is quite alright, you are not her favorite person either.” Mycroft answered, shifted in his seat, leaning minutely closer to Greg. 

John rolled his eyes; he’d just asked to be polite. There was no love lost between him and Mycroft’s assistant but he didn’t really dislike her either, didn’t feel much one way or the other for her. “Never mind, I just hope she’ll have a nice Holidays.” The flat smelled of Christmas dinner and mulled wine, it smelled like home and the people there were family, John’s chosen family. It might be the hormones but right now at this moment, John loved them all...Even Mycroft. 

Mrs. Hudson came bustling in, a plate covered in sliced turkey in her hands, set it down, fixed John a plate, and sat down on the ottoman, striking up a conversation with Janice and pulling the mood into more friendly waters overall as they all ate.

Greg held a bit of turkey in front of Mycroft’s mouth with a challenging smile. He honestly didn’t think his lover would eat from his fingers in front of everyone but it was still something he wanted to try and see about.

Both of Mycroft’s brows rose and he sent his lover a look before sighing and nipping the turkey piece out of Greg’s fingers with his lips. “Wonderful turkey, you ladies have outdone yourself.” 

John looked on in horrified fascination, it was sort of looking at a train-wreck, scary and horrible and still you couldn’t look away. 

Greg’s brows lifted in surprise and then his smile shifted from challenging to fairly adoring and he leaned down to brush a kiss over the corner of Mycroft’s mouth, unaware of a beaming Molly snapping a picture of it. He shifted to murmur a promise to reward Mycroft for indulging him later, after they went home in his lover’s ear, low enough so only Mycroft heard him.

Mycroft just squeezed his lover’s knee and smiled enigmatically. Greg really didn’t have to reward him in any way. Every day he got to spend with the other man was a gift and a reward but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, knowing that whatever reward Greg would come up with it would be highly pleasurable for both of them. 

“Mycroft is right, this is an amazing turkey.” John was happy for Greg and Mycroft, he really was but he wanted what they had and knowing he’d lost it hurt. 

Greg leaned back and ate a bit of the turkey himself, remembering that John had lost his Holmes. He heaped praise upon Sarah and Mrs. Hudson, angling himself so that his body blocked the view of him holding Mycroft’s hand from John. He didn’t want to rub salt in the wound. He tossed a bit of turkey at the dog, grinning at Sentinel when he caught it in a flash of strong white teeth without moving from his spot next to John. “How has Sentinel been since you’ve been stuck on bedrest John?”

“He’s brilliant, couldn’t ask for better help.” John petted the dog and snuck him another piece of turkey. “Sen gets me water bottles the paper and everything I could need really. A tea towel tied to the handle of the fridge has made sure he can open and close that as well. I am getting terribly, horribly spoiled by him.” He smiled warmly and continued to stroke Sentinel’s soft fur.

Molly nibbled on her own food, “Well you spoil him, he spoils you, it’s a symbiotic relationship.”

Greg chuckles, “That’s a good description.”

Sarah grinned, “Mmmhmm. How have things been at the Yard?”

“Frustrating,” Greg frowned and drank some punch, “Very, very frustrating. The sniper murders are making everyone irritable, whoever did it left almost no concrete clues.”

John hummed something vague in agreement and noticed the carefully blank expression sliding over Mycroft’s features. Oh he definitely knew more than he let on, John wondered if Greg knew. “You’ll crack it eventually Greg, despite the knobs you have working with you.” He didn’t mention Sally specifically, not wanting to drag that mess up in front of Dr. Weisz and Nurse Majors.

“Maybe. It’s not really helping that no one actually cares about catching the killer of killers for hire, not even me. I should probably be ashamed of that but I’m not.” Greg shrugged.

“I’m sorry I asked,” Sarah grimaced, “How about we shift to something more fun? You know, like opening presents.”

John groaned. “Oh lord...presents. Please don’t feel obliged to even pretend to like them...I kind of ordered them online at four in the morning on a major sugar high.” 

Mycroft actually chuckled at that. “Well the saying is that it’s the thought that counts isn’t that so?”

“Yeah...Only I don’t really remember what I was thinking.” John squirmed a bit in his seat.

Sarah giggled, “Oh I badly want to know now. Definitely present time.” She scooted over to the tree like a child hopped up on chocolate.

“Who spiked Sarah’s punch?” Greg watched her as she passed out the presents beneath the tree to their proper recipients, John of course getting the bulk.

Dr. Weisz chuckled, “Ah no need for alcohol when the season brings all the joy in the world.”

“A season can’t really bring joy though. We might tell ourselves that all is well and cozy but this is just another day and if you go by actual statistics more murders and suicides and violence happens on Christmas than any other time of year.”

“Thank you for that Mycroft, for bringing such cheer to the occasion.” John’s voice was as dry as the desert. “Just be quiet and open your gifts.”

Greg set a small, simply wrapped box on top of Mycroft’s pile with a gentle smile then looked over at John, “Goes for you too Little John, dig in.”

Molly chuckled and peeled back the paper on the gift from John, lifting it out of the box and laughing delightedly at the little vinyl bobble head of the cartoonized Epstein Barr Virus, “It’s adorable!”

The tip of John’s ears turned a vibrant red. “Um...Well...Better to have it in this form than the real one.” Oh Christ, what had he been thinking? John should definitely be banned from using the internet in the dead of night after two bowls of chocolate ice cream.

Mycroft slipped a plain white envelope on top of Greg’s pile of presents and then his nose twitched slightly as he unwrapped the pink fuzzy handcuffs from John.

“I thought Greg’s handcuffs might chafe.” John grinned unrepentantly. 

“They do actually,” Greg worked his finger under the flap of the envelope, “My wrists thank you.” Not to say he wouldn’t be happy to tie Mycroft to the bed if he ever got the chance but there was an agreement to leave no marks on his lover that could undermine his authority. He slid the paper from the envelope, pursing his lips curiously at the weight of it. Some sort of official document from the quality of the paper. He unfolded it and promptly found himself speechless.

It was the deed to Mycroft’s house but it wasn’t just Mycroft’s house officially any longer because there, in strong black ink, was Greg’s name right along with Mycroft’s under ownership. He looked up to meet Mycroft’s eyes, his own communicating a thousand different emotions, a slight lift at the corner of his mouth making the point that every one of them were positive.

Mycroft gave him a small private smile in return. He wanted this, wanted Greg. He knew his lover stayed with him anyway but he wanted it official, wanted it to be their home, the two of them together. He opened the small package from Mycroft, smiling at the tasteful, elegant tie-pin engraved with a crown. “Thank you.”

“Likewise,” it was a soft reply and Greg felt much more secure in his plans for tomorrow morning. Another sort of Christmas gift that he’d been rolling around in his head for a while now.

Sarah barked out a laugh when she opened her gift from John. Heavy black roach-stomper boots with steel toes, “Oh we’re sticking to the arse-kicker label are we?” She reached over and squeezed John’s knee, “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome and of course we’re sticking with the arse-kicker label. It is what you are after all.” He smiled at her warmly and continued to watch his friends open their gifts. He actually chuckled at Nurse Major’s red cheeks when she opened her biography on Fabio, he hadn’t been able to help himself. 

Greg actually fell into Mycroft’s lap laughing when he opened his gift from John. It was a book, the title proclaiming ‘How to Bring Your Government To Its Knees’ in bold white letters. 

Mycroft looked from the laughing man in his lap, to the book and then to John seated in his chair. He clucked his tongue and gave a sigh of deepest suffering. “Oh John...Really?”

“I’m not making any apologies, I was I supposed to help myself when I saw that title?” 

“Because you are a grown-up?”

“I thought we had firmly established that I’m really not.” John’s smile turned slightly wistful for a second before returning full force.

Dr. Weisz chuckled warmly, “No need to be completely grown up Mycroft my boy. A little fun is good for the soul,” He grinned when he unwrapped his present from John, another of the giant microbes series, this one a little plush of the human ovum. “Wonderful! A new one for the collection.”

John grinned at the older doctor’s amusement. “I don’t know if that makes me amused or disturbed, knowing that you collect them.” 

“Oh why not a little of both. Now are you going to start opening your mountain there or not?”

Molly nodded in agreement and Greg grinned from his position in Mycroft’s lap, “Yeah, get to it John.”

“Okay.” John reached for the present at the top of the pile, noticing that it was from Mycroft. As he opened it two oatmeal colored jumpers tumbled out, one in his size and the other one teeny tiny one. “Oh...”

Greg squeezed his lover’s hand in approval and settled in to watch John open the presents. Most of them were baby related, almost completely fulfilling the layette requirements, but there were things for just John in there as well. In addition to the folding stroller he’d given him, Greg had also given John a robe and slipper set since he knew his friends was ratty beyond belief.

John was feeling much too emotional as he opened his mountain of gifts, stroking gently over each item, paying special care to everything baby related. He appreciated his friends and their help so much and after this he might actually be ready to become a father, at least when it came to the physical things the baby would need. Emotionally he’d just have to grit his teeth and pray to the fates that he didn’t mess the kid up too badly. 

“Thank you, thank you so much for all of this.” He had to clear his throat a few times to get rid of the choked up feeling. 

“You more than deserve it deary,” Mrs. Hudson got up to pet his hair back affectionately, “You’re so important to us.”

Greg nodded, “To all of us John.”

And there was that choked up feeling again, John was just happy that he managed not to start blubbering. He might be pregnant but he really didn’t fancy crying in front of his friends. “You’re important to me as well, never doubt that.” He looked down at his lap until he felt somewhat confident that he’d gotten his emotions back under control. He was so lucky to have these people in his life and he was never going to let himself forget that or forget to tell them that they mattered. If there was one thing he’d learnt it was that life was short.

**_To be continued…_ **


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Seven._ **

In another part of London, Sally Donovan was having a not so merry Christmas. She’s seen Lestrade being all cozy with Mycroft Holmes and now she didn’t dare to stay. She had to hightail it out of London and even Britain, she didn’t want to get caught and she definitely didn’t want to end up like one of those snipers. Things were falling apart quickly and she was not about to go down with this ship, she’d worked too hard for that to happen.

Packing a bag with the essentials only she reached for her phone and sent off a text to a number Jim had given her in case of emergencies. If anyone could help her now it was him. Jim’s lost little children had to stick together, did they not?

Watching the happy little gathering through two windows and a sniper scope as John Watson was nearly buried in baby essentials; Sebastian Moran glanced at his mobile as it buzzed. He checked the text and felt his lip curl in disgust. Sally Donovan. He’d met plenty of women in Jim’s network who were like her but none that Jim had willingly worked so closely with toward a common goal and that got to him. It had irritated him every time she’d tried to sidle close to Jim, to use her body to try and seduce him. Not because he’d ever thought Jim would take her up on it, Jim had more class than that, but because the fact that she’d thought Jim stupid enough to fall for it had been fucking insulting. 

Jim had the intelligence to go up against Sherlock Holmes and his older brother at the same time and that little twit had thought she could scramble his brains with sex? It was an insult to Jim’s mind and he’d always wanted to put a bullet through her skull for it. Now she was texting him for help? Seb shook his head. He’d go see what the little chit wanted and then come back here to continue the last task Jim had given him.

He sent her a text back to meet at Hern Hill at the entrance to the sewers, stowed his rifle, then gave the party in Baker Street a respectful salute. He admired John Watson, and envied him a bit too. The man was living a life without his genius, the same as Seb was, had watched his heart jump from a building and lay blood splattered on the pavement in front of him. Both he and John Watson were the ordinaries caught up in the whirlwind of a genius, providing the steady currents needed to keep that whirlwind from collapsing in on itself. Only they had anyway and both he and Watson had been helpless to stop it. He respected the army doctor for that reason, felt empathy with him. The envy came in knowing that Watson was one lucky bastard in that a quirk of biology was letting him carry a bit of his genius back into the world while Seb was left with a struggling criminal network and a task.

Still he respected and empathized enough with Watson that he hoped he’d never have to follow through and put a bullet into the man’s brain. As he caught a taxi and watched London pass by on his way to the meet, he thought of how pissed Jim would be to know that, out of that odd kindred respect for Watson and a little bitterness and anger at Jim, he’d set things up so that if he was killed before Watson, LEOs the world over would be getting details on every little dirty secret Jim had passed on to Seb. Because Sebastian Moran was many things and a vengeful fucker was near the top of that list and Jim had broken a promise not to leave him alone in the big, boring world again.

Sally made her way to Hern Hill, cursing the cold, wet weather. December in London was not pleasant and trudging down to the sewers even less so. Her pack was safely stashed where she quickly could get to it after the meeting with Moran. Her lips curled slightly, she had never liked the sniper, to full of himself but he was the best at what he did and she could use the support at getting at John Watson. She was leaving but there was no way she would allow Sherlock Holmes’ genes to carry on. Both Watson and his unnatural spawn had to die.

She caught sight of Sebastian’s tall broad shouldered form and walked over quickly, wanting this to be over quickly so she could get warm again.

Donovan didn’t waste time on pleasantries, just stalked straight over. “I think I’ve been made, I’m getting out of London but I think we should finish our task before I go don’t you?”

“What the fuck are you talking about _our_ task? I don’t share a job with you Donovan and the jobs I’m doing have detailed instructions on when, how, where, and why. If you’ve been stupid enough to be found out it’s not my problem. Your job was just to keep an eye on DI Lestrade and be back up for Renike.”

“Such bad language, all the time. How Jim put up with you I’ll never know.” Sally sighed and fingered the item in her pocket. Things were not going the way she wanted but she wasn’t out of ideas yet. “I say our task because I was instructed to drive Sherlock Holmes over the edge so Jim could finish him off...I don’t leave a job half completed. The spawn needs to die and Sherlock’s faithful dog as well.”

“Watson is my job and none of your business,” he gave her a nasty smirk, “And Jim put up with me because I knew right where I stand in comparison to him and acted accordingly, because I gave him exactly what he needed and wanted when he asked, plus I’m the best at what I do. Can’t say the same for you. If you’re going to run then you’d better do it now but I won’t be helping. Find some minor mafia figure to fuck into helping you; I have better things to do with my time.”

She sighed deeply, knowing that she should have expected it but still, it was such a hassle changing her plans. “I’m sorry you feel that way, I think you could have been useful and made this much easier.” She sidled behind him and pulled the knife out of her pocket. The first stab into his throat felt a little strange, like popping bubble wrap but after that it really wasn’t that difficult. She could even understand what the appeal was as she watched Moran’s blood run wet and hot from his slit throat. Sally pulled the file she’d brought out from underneath her jacket and pinned it to Moran’s chest with the knife she’d used. Then she removed her gloves and jacket, sticking then in a bag to be disposed of later. She would have to handle Watson on her own then but she had already taken a skilled sniper down, how much harder could a pregnant has been be?

 

oOo

 

Greg leaned against the doorjamb and watched Mycroft slowly peel the layers off in his methodical way, “I’d call tonight a rousing success though I still think you being intimidated by Sentinel were adorable.”

“That creature is vicious, you just don’t see it. I still think John should check him for rabies or some sort of brain damage.” Mycroft shuddered lightly. In all honesty he just didn’t like that he couldn’t read the dog like he did humans, it unsettled him. “But other than that you are right, tonight was a success and I think John was actually happy to have us there.”

“Of course he was. You piss him off sometimes but you’re Sherlock’s brother, every piece of Sherlock is one he’s holding tight as he can.” Once Mycroft was in just his shirt sleeves and trousers Greg came over to wrap his arms around Mycroft from behind. “I understand that because I’d probably lock myself in the house and horde everything that reminded me of you if I lost you.” 

Mycroft leaned back against Greg, placing his hands over his lover’s around his middle. His own pulse jumped and his throat closed up at the thought of losing Greg, which was completely unacceptable and unbearable. “You’re not going to lose me and I better not lose you, I won’t allow it.” 

“You won’t. You are well and truly stuck with me Mycroft Holmes,” he pressed a kiss to the nape of Mycroft’s neck. “Right where I want you to be.”

“Is that so? I suppose it is a good thing that you are stuck with me as well. I am a very possessive man; don’t think you would be able to get away even if you wanted to.” Mycroft tilted his head to give Greg’s mouth more room on his neck. “I am not a good man but I am all yours.”

“I’m never going to want to get away. I know just how good you really are and just how bad you can be if pushed,” he pressed kisses along the long column of his lover’s neck, “And I’m more than okay with it.” His hand stroked under Mycroft’s shirt, playing the fingers around his navel, “I’m proud of it, proud of you for being able to be ruthless enough to do what others can’t or won’t to protect the whole.”

Mycroft shivered, both at Greg’s touch along the sensitive skin around his navel and his words. It was silly to be affected but no one had ever said they were proud of him before, not with such honest ease as Greg just had. His hands went up and behind him to run through the hair at the nape of his lover’s neck. “I’m proud of you too, of your strength, your kindness, principles and how you do what needs to be done.”

Greg pressed another kiss to freckled skin, “And, I love you. I love the things you do that drive me crazy, like your neurosis about the soap in the shower. I love the things you do that make me melt, like when you ‘just happen’ to find that old figurine I babbled about losing as a child and crying over for days. I love your voice, the way it can be so soft and deadly or gentle and loving or desperate and impossibly sexy. I love your hands, the long elegant fingers, your eyes, the shifting blues, your skin, all the freckles I get to map out with my mouth, and god I love your body, so deceptively thin in those suits of yours yet strong enough to toss me over your shoulder if you feel the need.” He nuzzled at the crook of Mycroft’s shoulder, “I love every last centimeter of you and every single quality you have even when I’m pissed off at you.”

Oh Gods, Mycroft made a muffled sound deep in his throat and turned around in Greg’s embrace smashing his mouth against his lover’s almost desperate in his need. He loved Greg too, loved everything about him but he wasn’t good at voicing his emotions, was afraid that the words would come out wrong or get stuck in his throat. Instead he hoped he could show Greg how much he meant, that he was everything to Mycroft, everything that really truly mattered. His hands clutched at Greg’s shoulders as he devoured the other’s mouth.

He understood, he could feel everything Mycroft was putting into the intense kiss and Greg gave it back equally, pulling Mycroft as close as their clothes would allow. He ran his hands up into the neat and orderly hair, completely destroying the order so he could run his fingers through it as he sucked on Mycroft’s invading tongue.

Mycroft hummed into the kiss, both giving and taking in equal measure as he worked his hands beneath Greg’s clothes, running his hands up and down Greg’s back and sides, scratching his fingers lightly over his lover’s ribs. He couldn’t stop touching, couldn’t stop kissing and couldn’t stop loving Greg, not even for a moment and he never wanted to either. Mycroft had lived his life knowing that caring was not an advantage but he had been wrong. Loving Greg made him stronger, made him want to be a better man.

Greg hummed into Mycroft’s mouth at the scrape of nails and brought his own hands to the front of Mycroft’s shirt, undoing the buttons so he could part the fabric and caress the warm skin beneath. He nipped at Mycroft’s lips and flicked his fingers over nipples already hard with desire. God he loved how responsive Mycroft was to his touch.

Arching into Greg’s touch, Mycroft’s nipples drew tight and pointy. God he loved Greg’s hands on him, loved his touch. His own hands tightened on Greg’s skin before he scrambled with Greg’s buttons and fastenings, wanting him naked and pressed against himself as soon as possible.

He was working on Greg’s trousers when his phone rang, the ‘official’ phone. Almost making a whimper in frustration he let go of his lover to answer it, his face growing drawn and his brows furrowing the longer the other person spoke. He was not happy when he hung up, barely resisting throwing the phone across the room. “Donovan has bolted, given the men watching her the slip. She’s in the wind.”

“Shit,” it was hissed and emphatic and very, very irritated. Before he could say anything further his own phone rang, the tone for Dispatch and he met Mycroft’s eyes as he answered through speaker phone, “Lestrade.”

“Got a 187 out at Hern Hill, sewers. DB is reported as similar to the sniper murders.”

“On my way.”

Sighing, Mycroft walked over and pulled Greg in for a heated kiss before helping to straighten the other man’s clothes again. “Be careful, if Donovan is out there, then there’s no telling what she might do.” Something about this latest murder didn’t sit right with Mycroft, the other snipers had been found on rooftops and the like, what would Sherlock go for the sewers now? 

Greg nodded and gently squeezed Mycroft’s wrist, “I’ll keep an eye on my six, since Donovan’s in the wind I’ll call in Dimmock for assistance. He can be a bit of a tight arse but he’s trust-worthy and good at the job.” He pressed his lips to Mycroft’s brow, “This completely buggers the morning plans I had too. I’ll just have to improvise to get your second present to you appropriately.”

“Keep safe and come home as soon as you can, that is the only present I need.” Mycroft straightened Greg’s tie and gave him another kiss before his lover left. It felt frighteningly domestic but Mycroft couldn’t bring himself to be bothered about that. “If anything goes down, just use Anderson as a human shield, that man is so repulsive that he could repel anything.”

He chuckled and traced his fingers along Mycroft’s cheek, “True enough. Get some rest if you can, at least eat if you can’t sleep and I’ll see you later.” He pulled away and headed for the door, highly irritated at this turn of events.

 

oOo

 

As soon as he stepped onto the scene Greg was frowning. It had all the MO of the other sniper murders but it was messy. The other knifing had been one clean swipe across the throat. Not this one, this one was a stab into the carotid; the dead man wouldn’t have bled out as quickly and could have managed to get a shot in on his killer. It was sloppy and it felt wrong. He knew Sherlock would have scoffed at his ‘gut feeling’ and rattled off about his subconscious putting together pieces his conscious mind was too fogged with procedures and garbage to manage to spit out properly. Still it was how he described it and his gut smelled a rat. 

He spotted Anderson photographing something and walked over, “Spot something?”

The weasel-faced man nodded at the ground, “A footprint. I’ll have to pick it up and get it to the lab to identify it but it’s pretty small. Woman, teenager, or a man with really small feet.”

“I’d say woman, the soles are narrow, looks like a pair of women sneakers.” DI Dimmock crouched down next to the footprint, careful not to disturb it. “Also if you look at the wound, it seems as if someone had to reach up, someone short, that’s why the wound doesn’t look like the others.” 

Lestrade nodded and looked back at the body, “And our vic is a big guy, tall as fuck and built like a bloody lorry.” He bent to study the pattern of the imprint, “Possibly a falling out among criminals and the killer used the sniper murders to cover it up. Can’t tell for sure just yet.”

Anderson heaved a reluctant huff, “Hate to say it but Holmes would have been useful here.” When Greg and Dimmock looked up at him in surprise he shrugged, “Just because I never liked him doesn’t make me completely stupid about his brains.” He moved off to get the things he needed from his kit.

Greg just stared after him, “Well bugger me.”

“Rather not if it is all the same to you, I like my bedmates just a little curvier and besides, I think my girl would disapprove.” Dimmock looked at the body again. “What does the file say?”

“Sebastian Moran. Moriarty’s right hand man, with all the crimes that goes along with, and the last on his assigned to hit list is John Watson.” His jaw clenched, “I’m starting to think that Sherlock stepped off that roof for a different reason than a ruined reputation. And since when do you have a girl?”

“You don’t think I could get a girl? And in what universe is that any of your business anyway?” Dimmock, raised a brow at the older DI. He really admired Lestrade and it was a treat working with him. “I won’t even pretend to have known Sherlock Holmes like you did but I think you may be on to something there...Diving head first off a roof on account of a ruined reputation does not sound at all like the man I met.”

“I think you’re married to your desk Dimmock, no time for a girl,” it was a friendly tease before Greg sobered, “Someone’s making sure that the truth comes to light and they’re taking out the threats to that before they do. I don’t know about you but I have a feeling the shit’s about to hit the fan in a big, big way.”

Dimmock nodded, a slight frown on his features. “I think you are right.”

 

oOo

 

Back home with Mycroft, he’d just gotten the confirmation that the dead sniper was Moran. It was most definitely time to contact Sherlock again, find out what was going on there for sure. He walked into his study and got his Sherlock phone out again.

‘Donovan has made a run for it and Moran is dead. Your work? - M’

‘Also, Happy Christmas I suppose. - M’

Across the Channel in a dingy little hole in the wall where he’d just made an anonymous call to tip off the Parisian police force about the criminal enterprise hiding in their sewers, Sherlock felt his stomach freeze over and he replied so fast you’d have thought he’d bonded mentally with his phone. 

‘WHAT? I’m in France Mycroft. IS JOHN SECURE?!’

‘I have continued surveillance on him; he is as secure as I can make him without taking him away to a safe house. - M’

Mycroft knew how well that would go over with a highly pregnant ex soldier on bed rest and he really didn’t want to have to resort to that.

‘THEN DO IT.’

That was swiftly followed by another text.

‘Never mind, your men are idiots. I’m coming home.’

‘I shall take care of the arrangements to return you to the world of the living then little brother. - M’

Mycroft hesitated before quickly typing up another text. 

‘Be careful with John, circumstances have changed. - M’

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

‘Is he married?’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be a genius? Idiot. The man still loves you, no marriage or relationship things can change in other ways. - M’

Mycroft scoffed to himself, really...It seemed extreme possessiveness ran in the family.

With that answer the only thing worse than John finding someone else entered Sherlock’s mind and made him feel like vomiting at the mere consideration.

‘Is he...dying?’

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft set out to answer, really, his brother was certainly prone to melodramatics.

‘What would be the point to protect him if he was? Just come home, it is nothing to be discussed by text message. - M’

‘If you are just toying with me I will make your life hell.’

That final text sent Sherlock began making his plans to exit France safely. If it went well he’d be back by John’s side by Epiphany.

**_To be continued…_ **


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Eight._ **

Sherlock arrived without fanfare in England and caught the first taxi he saw. He’d deal with Mycroft’s wrath over circumventing whatever plans for reintroduction he’d had later. Right now the only thing on his mind was getting to John and making sure he was safe.

He found himself just a bit irritated when his old key still worked in the door to the townhouse. Mycroft hadn’t even arranged to have the locks changed? Well protected his arse. He made his way up the stairs quietly and unlocked the door to the flat, stepping in, his heart pounding to a beat that sounded like his lover’s name.

John was lying in bed, propped up against a mound of pillows, reading some medical records that Sarah had sent over for his consulting cases. He jumped when Sentinel started to growl, low in his throat, lips curling back over gleaming white teeth and his body poised for attack.

“What is it boy?” John’s hand started to move toward the lockbox where he kept his gun as Sen kept growling, standing in the doorway of the bedroom, ready to protect his master.

Sherlock swallowed as he approached the bedroom door. He wasn’t expecting John to leap into his arms at first sight. Honestly he was expecting a fist to the face, a broken nose, maybe even a missing tooth but John was entitled. He turned the door knob and swung it open and was greeted by the last thing he’d have expected in the form of snarling white teeth and black fur poised to lunge. The gun pointed at the door wasn’t exactly expected either. And then there was the utterly baffling sight of John’s stomach being the size of a football. If Mycroft had lied to him about John dying he was going to kill his brother.

Oh God, John had gone crazy, the stress on his body from the pregnancy had given him a stroke because the man standing in the doorway couldn’t be there. He was _dead_. John had seen him jump, had taken his pulse and seen his blood all over the sidewalk. Sherlock Holmes was dead...He had to be because he wasn’t then John would have to kill him with his own bare hands.

One hand went to cradle his stomach but the other who held the gun trained on the ghost in his flat didn’t tremble. “Out! Get out now or I will shoot you.”

Sentinel picked up on the tone of John’s voice and stalked closer to the unknown man, his growls turning even deeper and his teeth snapping in air.

“John?” Sherlock’s voice was soft, just a little lost, and very, very confused. He turned his head to look over his shoulder when a loud slam of the downstairs door was followed by his brother’s cursing and Lestrade’s voice.

“Mycroft would you just _tell_ me what’s going on?!”

“No time, he might be an idiot of the highest degree but I rather not plan his funeral all over again.” Mycroft took the stair three steps at the time until he was inside the flat, taking in the situation.

“Sherlock, I _told_ you to come to me first. Why are you so stubborn?”

John looked between the brothers, gun still aimed at Sherlock and Sen still growling. His face crumbled when realization started to dawn in his eyes. The hand on his belly tensed. “Out, out, out! Get out right now...all of you!”

Greg, who’d frozen as soon as he’d spotted Sherlock, was spurred into action but the sheer agony in John’s tone. He marched forward and grabbed Sherlock by the back of the neck and yanked hard, pulling him away from John’s door, and looked over at his own lover, “Call Sarah and Weisz.”

“Let me go!” Sherlock managed to twist out of Greg’s hold and was turning to plant his feet when a fist like a damned brick impacted with his face and he felt the crunch of cartilage as his nose gave way and he fell onto his ass, staring up at Greg in shock.

Greg kept his voice low, just on the edge of fury, as he looked down at what was supposed to be a dead man, “Mycroft take him downstairs, make those calls, and make sure he stays there.” He slid a look over at his lover, “And don’t think you don’t have a long list of explanations to make to both John and me.”

Mycroft nodded, he knew he was in for it; it was nothing he didn’t deserve. He handed his little brother a linen handkerchief for his bleeding nose and took a hold of his arm and half dragged him downstairs to the hallway outside of Mrs. Hudson’s rooms. Thankfully she was away to visit her sister, no reason to add to this whole mess. He just glared at Sherlock as he made the acquired calls, asking both Sarah and Bradley to get over to Baker Street as quickly as they could. When he hung up he turned and looked at Sherlock.

“For once in your life couldn’t you have done what I asked? You have no idea the damage you might have caused here.”

“What do you mean damage?” Sherlock had to take care to speak properly thanks to his slowly swelling nose, “What is going on? What is that tumor John has? Did you lie to me?”

“Tumor?” Mycroft ran his hand through his hair in frustration, not caring one bit if it was left standing on end. “Did you really suffer brain damage when you jumped? Are you that blind? Bed rest, two doctors on call, a service dog? Look at it as if it was a case. What was different about the flat? About the bedroom where John is? Use the brain you claim to have.”

Sherlock’s eyes grew dangerously narrow, he had of course noticed the infant paraphernalia but assumed John was babysitting for some new friend. “What else could it be but a tumor? And possibly some vile attempt at taking revenge for my absence that you’ve conned John into.”

Upstairs, where Greg was hurriedly making tea, he heard the shouting and chose to holler down the stairs before shutting the door, “Mycroft it’s Sherlock, he probably deleted everything required for understanding here.” He slammed the door shut with a snap, closing off the voices to keep them from further upsetting John and went back to brewing the chamomile tea.

John had finally dropped the gun and curled up on his side as much as he could, considering the size of his stomach. He couldn’t handle this, couldn’t handle that Sherlock was alive, that he had left him all alone. Didn’t he know that John had been dying without him? John had been forced to go through every ache and every scare without Sherlock there. He couldn’t come back now, he just couldn’t handle it.

Downstairs, Mycroft was close to give Sherlock more than a broken nose. Then he realized something and reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out the ultrasound picture he carried with him out of habit now. “Call my nephew a tumor one more time and I will let John shoot you...After the beast disguised as a dog has ripped your throat out.”

Sherlock frowned, mind already categorizing the similarities in the features of the little being in the image to his own and John’s. His face twisted in complete mystification. “I don’t understand.”

Mycroft sighed, realizing that Sherlock really didn’t get it. He sat down next to his brother on the steps, talking softly. “Sherlock...John is pregnant. He has a condition called chimerism, in essence he has female reproductive systems as well as male ones, allowing him to get pregnant. He didn’t know until you were gone...Your son...Your son is expected in February.” Mycroft knew that Sherlock could do the math.

Sherlock didn’t say anything else, instead he had his phone out and searching for the terms Mycroft had spoken. He needed data because this...was difficult to believe.

Greg finished the tea and came toward the door, knocking on the jamb in soft warning to the dog now whining and nosing at John’s hand and John himself, “John, may I come in?”

John didn’t really reply other than with a low hum that could mean anything. He didn’t say no either though, just stayed curled in on himself, trying to shut out the world as much as he could.

Greg took it as a yes and came in, setting the mug of tea down on the nightstand and patting Sentinel before laying a hand on John’s shoulder. “Sarah and Dr. Weisz are on their way. I made you some tea as well and....and I have no idea what to do for you except maybe go downstairs and clock him again.”

“It’s real then? Sherlock is alive? Not a stroke or insanity?” John’s voice was low and he stayed in his curled up position. “I don’t give a shit about reasons. I don’t want to see him. He left me alone. He left me all alone for all this time and now he can stay away. I don’t need him anymore.”

“Okay. I’ll relay the message. I’m sure we can arrange for Sherlock to be sequestered in the north of Scotland for the rest of your lives.” Greg didn’t try to convince John that he’d change his mind and want Sherlock soon enough or try to remind him of how much he’d been needing and wanting Sherlock over the last several months. He knew better than to try that.

“As long as he’s not here I don’t care.” John’s voice was empty. All he felt right now was pain. The same crippling pain that had nearly killed him after Sherlock died...Except he didn’t die now did he? Christ, John’s mind was just going around in circles; he couldn’t make sense of anything anymore. If he closes his eyes tightly enough and managed to fall asleep then maybe he would wake up to realize that this was just another bad dream. He’d certainly had his fair share of dreams where Sherlock wasn’t dead; none of them had hurt like this though.

He was about to say more when the door was opened in a flurry of motion and Sarah came in, pausing only to glare at Greg and hiss, “Did you _know_ about this?”

“God no. If I had I’d have told John soon as possible.”

She nodded shortly and bumped him aside, “Go downstairs with those two bastards.” She started taking vitals, her stethoscope going under his shirt to listen to the baby’s heartbeat, in full doctor mode.

“Alright, if you need anything just let me know.” Greg didn’t take her hrumph personally and ambled out and downstairs, only lifting a brow at Sherlock doubled over, almost purple and breathing hard through his nose. “Kick you in the bollocks did she? Can’t say you didn’t deserve that.” He sat down on the stairs and waited for someone else to speak.

There was a long awkward silence as Sherlock struggled to get his breath back, then finally Mycroft spoke up. "She was wearing the boots, the ones John gave her for the Holidays, did you notice that?" Mycroft couldn't help but feel sorry for his little brother; being kicked by those could not have felt pleasant at all.

“How did you escape the same fate?” Greg lifted a silver brow in question.

Sherlock groaned out, “Bastard...dodged.”

“Went for you first did she then Sherlock.” He looked up as Dr. Weisz came rushing in, his eyes widening on Sherlock then staring disapprovingly at Mycroft before he ran up the stairs past Greg.

Greg just kept staring at Mycroft but once Sherlock had managed to regain his faculties and sit up straight, he spoke, “John doesn’t want Sherlock around here.” He didn’t show the slightest reaction to the flinch Sherlock made. “He’s pissed, he’s hurting, and he’s been struggling through a pregnancy alone thinking about everything he’d never get to share with the baby’s other father. You’ve got one fucking ton of groveling and restitution to do to get back in his good graces Sherlock.”

“And how much groveling will my brother have to do to get back in your Lestrade?” Sherlock gingerly readjusted himself and wished for some ice.

“Well that depends on the explanation I’ll be getting.”

“Not sure I have a satisfactory explanation to give you.” Mycroft replied, running his hand through his hair once more. Waging wars without the people of Britain finding out was so much easier than facing the disappointment of the man you loved. “Sherlock is my brother...I helped put him in the situation he found himself it and I had to help him out of it. Three snipers trained on you, Martha and John, ordered to take the shot unless Sherlock jumped. I’m not sure if you ever can understand or really forgive but I _had_ to help my brother Greg. Had to help him protect the people that matter.”

Greg’s fingers twitched and he gave Sherlock on long, stern look, “If you so much as _think_ about going upstairs, I’ll borrow Sarah’s boots and kick you in the bollocks myself,” that said he was up and in front of Mycroft in one smooth, predatory movement, grabbing him by the waistcoat and pulling him down the hall and kicking open 221C for privacy.

He fisted his hands in Mycroft’s jacket, got in his face, and growled, “I half want to clock you for even thinking I couldn’t understand.” Then he slanted his mouth over Mycroft’s in a hard, intense, breath stealing kiss.

Mycroft was still and wide eyed for one shocked moment before surging into motion, wrapping his arms around Greg’s neck almost to the point of pain and kissing back with everything he had. He let all his worry, fear, relief and love show in the kiss as he just clung. When he finally pulled away he breathed against Greg’s lips. “I swear I was going to tell you, Sherlock was supposed to come to us so we could ease John into his return, it wasn’t supposed to be like this...I forgot it’s Sherlock we’re dealing with, he never does as he’s told.”

Greg leaned his brown against Mycroft’s, “Idiot. The both of you really.” He sighed nipped at Mycroft’s bottom lip in a scold. “I’m angry but it’s on behalf of John.” He leaned back a bit to look into Mycroft’s eyes, “You should have told him about this, explained that Sherlock was taking out the snipers or whatever else he was doing to keep John safe and then he’d be back, when you found out he was pregnant. He’d have been pissed off no question but not as pissed off and shattered as he is now thinking Sherlock just abandoned him.”

He closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose. “I know, I know I should have. I just couldn’t break one more promise to Sherlock, I have not been the best of brothers but I had to do this for him. It’s no excuse and I still should have told John but I didn’t and here we are now.” Mycroft opened his eyes again and looked met his lover’s. “If John really will push Sherlock away, not want him any longer...than my brother will die for all intents and purposes. He might have gone about it in the wrong way but he did it all for John.”

Greg snorted, “I have no idea how well that’ll go over but right now it’s hormones and a solid thirty-seven weeks of grieving that’s talking for John.” He sighed and leaned his cheek against Mycroft’s. He wished he could say he was infuriated with Mycroft but he wasn’t, because he did understand. “You and Sherlock, completely arsebackwards the both of you.”

“It has been pointed out to us before yes.” Mycroft smiled but it was a tense, worried smile. It was so much easier when you didn’t care. When you didn’t care you couldn’t get hurt but now Mycroft had placed his heart at Greg’s feet and he knew that John owned Sherlock’s heart. When emotions and sentiment entered the picture there was so much to lose.

Greg tangled his fingers with Mycroft’s, “Come on, that threat to his bollocks won’t hold Sherlock in place for long and we need to sit on him to keep him from doing something stupid...er.”

Mycroft nodded. “We need to get back yes. Though more than the kick to his scrotum, gathering the data on John’s pregnancy and all the medical terms will be what holds him back, at least for a moment.”

“We probably want to hide him before Sarah comes back downstairs too.” He looked over his shoulder at Mycroft as he tightened his hand on his lover’s, “And I have a few ideas when it comes to this mess and compromising for Sherlock’s lodgings because I know damned good and well that Sherlock won’t be leaving the townhouse while Donovan’s out there and a threat.”

“Since I have made nothing but a mess of things, I’ll willingly follow any idea you have that may lead away from the path of bloodshed and heartache.” Mycroft squeezed his lover’s hand and walked with him out of 221C to return to Sherlock. More than watching him, Mycroft wanted to be there for him as well. Sherlock had spent enough time alone.

“It involves 221C and baby care lessons,” the corner of Greg’s mouth kicked up just a little bit, “Which we both know will lead to experiments in everything from diaper absorbency to formula composition.”

This time Mycroft’s smile was a little less tense, because he could see that, see Sherlock experimenting, throwing himself at learning to care for a child just like he did everything else. “I think that may actually work and since John is on bed rest he can’t throttle him either.”

“And I’ve an idea for that as well. A blog,” he paused before they got back into Sherlock’s earshot, “John would delete e-mails but if there was a private blog, one just John could see and only Sherlock could edit, then John’s curiosity would get the better of him and Sherlock could let John know everything without risking a bullet to the leg.”

Mycroft felt a twitch in his trousers that was completely inappropriate in this situation but a take charge, planning and plotting Greg was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. There were few things that Mycroft liked more than power and scheming. “I like this side of you Greg, I really do and I’ll make sure Sherlock goes along with this. He is a genius after all, he should see that this will be the best chance he has to get John back, John and Benjamin.”

“What side? And let’s keep the name a secret as long as we can,” Greg smirked, “Better impact.”

Oh, more scheming. Mycroft tightened his grip on Greg’s hand and if it wasn’t so crude and common he might have actually moaned.

Greg quirked a brow as they appeared in Sherlock’s line of sight once more, “That’s...interesting.” He looked at an absorbed Sherlock who was staring with his usual intent at his phone.

That didn’t last long, Sherlock looked up at his brother fast enough and frowned, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“What would you have done if I had Sherlock?” Mycroft didn’t let go of Greg’s hand. “Would you have dropped everything and rushed home? Giving the snipers their golden opportunity? If you’d stayed away knowing, you would have been distracted, vulnerable and even you would have been prone to mistakes. In a reversed situation would you have told me?”

Greg watched as the logic sank in and Sherlock seemed to curl in on himself, looking entirely too vulnerable for the usually dynamic man.

“I need him Mycroft.” It was soft and filled with terror.

Greg sighed and moved to sit next to Sherlock before Mycroft could reply, “We’ll help you make amends Sherlock but it’ll take time. This is not like the rows you had before, it’s not even as easy as it would have been if John wasn’t carrying your child.”

“What do I do? I can’t leave him alone, not when Donovan is out there.”

“We know that, we won’t make you leave but you need to give John some space.” Mycroft looked at his brother. “It was bad when you left Sherlock, John was broken, didn’t eat, didn’t sleep...I think he was set on dying before he found out about the baby. He has trust issues, you know that and even though you did it all for him you have just confirmed to him that no one can be trusted, not even the one you love. Stay in 221C. Look out for him but give him time.”

“That is...acceptable,” the pouting frown made it clear it was a begrudging acceptance. “I left him clues though...I thought...”

Greg jerked a look at Sherlock, “Hang on, what bloody clues?”

“In the conversation, when I called him. The ball, he saw me playing with it. I...”

“And for those of us not of genius intellect?”

“I switched from past tense to present when I spoke to John before I jumped. I used the rubber ball trick to stop my wrist pulse.”

“Oh Sherlock...” In that moment, Mycroft felt a huge wave of pity for his younger brother and he wished he could take all his pain away. “On any other occasion John might have been able to pick up on your clues but Sherlock...He watched you step off a roof, first he had to listen to you say that you would do it, no way to reach you in time and then he saw you jump. His best friend, his lover. It doesn’t matter that it was all a magic trick because to John it happened. He _watched_ you die.”

“I knew he wouldn’t pick up on it right away Mycroft! I thought, after some time, he would. John mulls over things repeatedly. My intent-”

Greg ran a hand over his face, “The road to bloody hell Sherlock, don’t ask me just look it up one day. Maybe John would have cottoned on eventually if he hadn’t been pregnant, maybe not. Doesn’t change what he’s feeling now. _But_ ,” he interrupted Sherlock before he could do much more than open his mouth, “it might help later. When he’s ready for an explanation. Brush up on your writing skills Sherlock. You’re going to be starting a blog.”

“Why would I do that? I already have a website.”

“Yes you do but as John has pointed out to you repeatedly, no one reads your website and the point of this is to make John read it. It would be a blog open only to him, a blog where you can be honest with him without pretending. I promise not even I will poke my nose into it.” Mycroft’s nose twitched at that statement. “Show him you are serious, that you want him and your child. Learn how to care for an infant, that you are ready to step up and be the man he needs.”

Sherlock frowned, his fingers tapping as his mind whirred. He needed John, John was his center, his nucleus. Without him he’d collapse in on himself in a magnificent implosion. And he liked children, oddly enough. It had been a vague thought for some time in the future, once he grew bored of the cases that he’d be stuck with once Lestrade got promoted to Superintendent, to raise bees and see how John might feel about adopting a child. Just a slight thought that had occasionally chased itself through his head. This...was unprecedented. Without time to plan or consider how to fit the Work with parenthood, he was only four weeks off from becoming a father.

The mechanics of caring for a child were easily learned but it was the rest of it, protecting a baby and making sure it was...loved. How did he do that and still be himself?

Greg snorted at the expressions flickering over Sherlock’s face, “Oh I’ve been there three times already Sherlock,” he thumped him on the shoulder, “You’ll figure it out as you go along. Now, up you get. I think you’d best be sitting in C before they get done with John upstairs or you’ll wind up with Sarah kicking you again.”

“I’ll make sure you’ll have some furniture down there as well as your clothes and your lab...John hasn’t thrown anything away.” Mycroft’s voice was soft, there was an eerie silence from upstairs and he couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. He had to admit that knowing John’s temper he had expected shouting and things breaking, not this quiet. It was disconcerting.

“He hasn’t?” Sherlock looked up hopefully, he was well aware of just how not good silence was. It meant John was beyond simple temper and drove home just how badly he’d buggered up.

Greg got to his feet and manhandled Sherlock up, “Not a thing. Some packed away a bit because they’re not baby friendly, but not a single thing tossed out.”

“Don’t throw me around,” Sherlock scowled.

“Why not?”

“That’s John’s job.”

“And he’ll be back to do his job soon enough but for now please don’t alienate Greg who is one of the few who doesn’t want to kick you in the bollocks again.” Mycroft arched a brow at his brother and forced down any gentle words what wanted to escape. Sherlock would not appreciate them. “Let’s get you settled and make plans to get John to forgive you. Oh and you may want to warn Molly before John tears her head off as well.”

“Oh. Yes. That is what is considered ‘good’ isn’t it?”

Greg shook his head and poked Sherlock toward 221C, “You’re a mess mate.”

Upstairs Dr. Weisz finished checking to make sure the stress hadn’t had a detrimental effect on the baby, “Everything’s still in place as it should be.” He pat John’s hand, “Still scheduled for your February C-section.”

“Good, that’s good.” John had been a doctor long enough that he recognized the signs of being in shock. It felt as if the rug had been ripped from beneath his feet. The world was tilted on its axis and nothing was as John had believed it to be. Of course he was happy that Sherlock was alive, he didn’t wish death on anyone, well there were exceptions but he certainly didn’t wish death on Sherlock. It was just that Sherlock had lied to him, had walked away and left him broken. If Sherlock could lie about dying then what else had he lied about? John could love with being drugged and manipulated, he’d thought that beneath it all Sherlock loved him just as he loved Sherlock but perhaps that had just been another ruse, another experiment and John wasn’t sure he could handle that.

“I’ll be going downstairs then and giving two young men quite the lecture.” He left the room with one more gentle pat, knowing that John would be more comfortable with just Dr. Sawyer.

Sarah tucked a thick, fluffy blanket around John’s shoulders and sat next to him, arm around him over the blanket. “It’ll be okay,” she ran her hand over his hair. She was pissed, unbelievably pissed at Sherlock Holmes, but she’d seen the look on his face before she’d kicked his balls up to his ears. Painful regret, gut-wrenching fear, and utter confusion.

“I don’t know Sarah, I don’t know if it will ever be okay again.” John hated sounding like that; hated being back in the place of weakness and hurt once more after he’d just managed to crawl up from that hole. He was a strong man, he was! But Sherlock had the power to make him crumble with a single look, just as he could build him up with one.

“You don’t have to know yet. I know and right now that’s enough. It will be okay John,” she squeezed his shoulders, “And in a few weeks you’ll be able to clock the bloody inconsiderate twat yourself. Who broke his nose by the way?”

“Greg did, punched him right in the face.” There was both satisfaction and worry in John’s voice. “Is his nose really broken?” He wanted Sherlock to hurt, like he hurt but at the same time he didn’t want him injured. It was so confusing; John couldn’t keep up with his own mind. “I hope he gets it set right, he has a lovely nose.”

She lifted a brow. God the both of them, lovesick idiots. “I’m certain the King Tit will arrange for proper setting but yes, it’s really broken from the way it was swollen up. And er...I may have added insult to injury.”

“Oh?” John turned his head to look at his friend, then he caught sight of her feet. He was both horrified and completely inappropriately amused. “You kicked him didn’t you? Good thing this bun is in the oven then because who knows if he will father anymore children.” John burst out in mad giggles that quickly turned into sobs.

She wrapped her arms around him and rocked as Sentinel jumped up carefully onto the bed and cuddled in on John’s other side. “Okay, it’s okay. Just let it all out John.” She hated John being hurt like this, absolutely loathed it, but all she could do was be here and help him through the confusing and hurtful circumstances.

John leaned into her, allowing himself that comfort as he cried his heart out. This would be the last time he promised himself, he was done crying over Sherlock Holmes, he was just done.

Sarah kept up a soothing string of nonsense until he was cried out then she got up to fetch a cool cloth to wipe his face, “Better?”

“Not really no, but I’ll get there.” John reached over to pet a worried Sentinel, letting the dog know he was alright, that Sen could relax. “Thank you for coming, for being here Sarah, for being a friend.

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad to give you an emotionally normal person to lean on. Just about everyone else you know is a mess.”

John snorted. “They are, aren’t they? Well I fit right in with them then don’t I? I am sorry though, for leaning so hard and so often. You deserve more than that. You should be out there living your own life instead of continuously mopping up my messes.”

“I’d whack you for saying that if you weren’t eight months pregnant. It’s what people do for their friends, messy or not.” She crossed her legs at the ankles, “So...Lestrade did he know? He said he didn’t but he had just walked in on the result of my kicking Sherlock so...” she shrugged.

John shook his head. “No it was very clear from the punch and his reaction that Greg didn’t know.” For some reason that made John happy, he had just gotten his friendship with the other man back and he was glad they had been in the same boat in this, both deceived by their Holmes’. “Molly must have known though, she performed the ‘autopsy’ on Sherlock, signed off on his death certificate.”

“Shit. God why didn’t she say anything in the MRI room?”

“I have no idea; she was Sherlock’s friend first. I guess she stayed Sherlock’s friend. She did help though.” John shrugged, not knowing what to feel regarding Molly Hooper either.

“I don’t understand any of this truth be told.” She rubbed her temple, “What the reason behind all of it?”

“Oh I get the reason behind it, that is the one thing I do understand. The snipers Sarah, the snipers. One on Mrs. Hudson, one on Greg and one on me. Three snipers, three bullets. Sherlock jumps or the triggers are pulled. I get it...It’s the lies afterward that pisses me off. Fucker didn’t have to do it on his own. He could have let me know, I could have helped him and nothing he says now can excuse him not letting me know.”

“Oh I agree wholeheartedly. Same goes for the King Tit.” She frowned, “But God that’s a scary idea too.”

“I know, I just can’t think about that because I need to hold on to my anger right now. I am so close to shattering Sarah and I can’t afford to because I am still becoming a parent in about a month. As for Mycroft...I’ve never really expected anything but secrets from him.” John continued to stroke Sen’s silky fur; it seemed as if it was soothing for the both of them.

She pat his ankle, “Okay. How about I make some tea then and we can look up rugby matches on your laptop until you need to fall asleep?”

John thought about it. “Actually...If you don’t mind I think I want to skip right to the sleeping part. It’s been an...exciting day.”

She smiled and kissed the top of his head, “I don’t mind John. Just remember to call if you need me okay?”

He nodded. “I will.” He turned and rolled up on his side again, Sentinel a comforting weight of warmth behind his knees. Right now he wanted to be alone, hopefully sleep but also trying to sort through the mess of his thoughts and feelings.

“Alright then,” she tucked the blanket around him better, “I’ll head out then. Sweet dreams.” She stepped away and made her way downstairs, narrowing her eyes when she heard voices coming from the direction of 221c. She made her way down to the third flat in the townhouse and crossed her arms when she saw Sherlock and his brother arguing over the best way to convert the second bedroom into a lab. “Oh you are not serious.”

Greg looked up at her, “Do me a favor Sarah, don’t kick Mycroft in the groin. I’ve more than a few reasons for wanting that to stay intact.”

“Oh I don’t plan on kicking the King Tit Greg so save your worry.”

Sherlock looked at his brother, a brief spark of amusement in his eyes, “King Tit?”

A faint dusting of pink spread over Mycroft’s cheekbones. “Yes well...John was not exactly pleased with me after the ...incident and Dr. Sawyer is very opinionated.” Mycroft put it politely he could think that the lady doctor was a vicious stubborn bitch but he would never utter such language out loud. “I’m sure she will come up with an equally inspiring name for you.”

“Truth be told I’m just leaning toward the all-encompassing ‘Idiot’. Why are you not out of the townhouse, and make it good.”

“Donovan.” Greg was the one who answered, “She’s in the wind and she’s got an ax to grind against John.” He watched Sarah soften just a hair, “As good as Mycroft’s men are,” he ignored Sherlock’s snort, “others have gotten past them before.”

She studied Sherlock closely, to the point that he actually shifted uncomfortably under her regard. “You really do love John?”

“Of course I do don’t be stupid.” He snapped it.

Oddly enough that made her feel better. “He’s been miserable. Even after finding out about the baby he was broken into so many pieces I wasn’t certain he’d ever manage to carry to term. And now, just as he’s managed to pick up the pieces and start gluing them back together, you’ve come back in the worst possible way and dashed the whole construct to the floor again.” She stepped forward and poked him in the chest, “You had damned well help him pick the pieces back up, put them back together, and make bloody sure you don’t break him again Sherlock Holmes or I’ll do worse than kick you in the bollocks. I’ll _lobotomize_ you.”

Mycroft nearly shuddered at the honest intent in Dr. Sawyer’s voice, he had no doubt that she would at least try to cut his brother’s brilliance out of him. It was a scary thought. “How is John? I understand that he is upset but he is alright is he not? The baby?”

She cut her gaze over to him, “Still healthy and on track though it could have been a very near thing.” She noticed that Sherlock looked more terrified by that than he had been by her threat on his brain. “He was in shock for a little while and now he’s sleeping, probably conked out as soon as I left the room from exhaustion.” She looked back at Sherlock and frowned, “There is no excuse you could give John that would ever make this right but,” she prodded him to sit down and put on gloves before she started treating his broken nose, carefully manipulating it back into place with artery forceps and a gentle touch, “If you’ll ignore your bogus self diagnosis of sociopathy and put everything you feel out on the line for him and prove how sorry you are, you might just earn his forgiveness.” She kept his nose straight with Walsham’s forceps while she pulled plaster bandages out of her kit with her other hand, laid them out in a T shape, and wet them with sterile water from a bottle in her kit.

“Mycroft said nephew.” It was a bit muffled but held the tone of a question.

She nodded as she began placing the nose cast in place, “Yes, in hopefully four weeks you’ll have a son with John. So you’d better grovel like you’ve never groveled before if you want to be there for the delivery.”

“Sherlock has never groveled before in his life unless he was acting. This should be a new experience for him.” Mycroft couldn’t help but tease his brother; it was a compulsion that occurred anytime the two of them spend more than ten minutes in each other’s company.

“Piss off,” it was an irritable growl from Sherlock. “You don’t know everything.”

Sarah quirked a brow, “You’ll have to do much better than that piss poor apology during the Hound case, yes John told me about that you little twat.”

“Why are you helping me?” Sherlock was puzzled. Shouldn’t she be warning him away and telling him never to come near John ever again.

“Because John needs you, no matter how he’s going to try and convince himself otherwise. He loves your emotionally stunted ass to the exclusion of everything but the baby. You bring him to life, as silly and romantic a notion as that is, and I don’t want to see him living a half life because you’re utterly brilliant at cocking things up.”

Greg snickered. That was a very good way of putting it.

Mycroft clucked his tongue and straightened his suit. “I may not know everything but I’ll always know more than you since you’ll always be spectacularly ignorant.” He turned from Sherlock to Dr. Sawyer and told her about their plan regarding the blog and Sherlock’s baby classes. He may not like Sarah Sawyer even the slightest little bit but he respected her and he knew that they would need to have her on their side if Sherlock would have any chance at all to make John forgive him.

She nodded, “That’s a good idea actually,” she pursed her lips, “Greg’s was it?”

Greg chuckled, “You’re evil.”

“That’s a yes. I know a couple of people who would make a ‘house call’ to teach Sherlock here everything he needs to know about baby care. Send John an e-mail from Mike Stamford with the link to the blog once you’ve got it set up. I’m sure your Government can hack an e-mail account Greg.”

“Of course I can, did you even doubt it.” Mycroft scoffed. “By the way you should get a better spam filter for your e-mail. That would keep you from getting all those letters about cures for erectile dysfunction and promises of increased sexual pleasure. Unless you enjoy them of course.”

She gave him a nasty smirk, “I knew I was on the right track handwriting that file.”

“Oh God don’t start this again,” Greg rolled his eyes and explained to a confused Sherlock about how Sarah had kept the truth about John’s condition for a solid month.

Sherlock couldn’t help but grin, “Oh. Clever. I’m surprised you’ve not hired her Mycroft. Isn’t such ingenuity exactly what you’re always looking for?”

“Mm, usually is but Dr. Sawyer and Anthea doesn’t get along and I do want my children to play nice with each other.” Mycroft buffed his nails against the fabric of his navy blue suit jacket.

“There’s also the fact that I wouldn’t work for the King Tit if the position came with a harem full of men at my beck and call and enough gold to bury Ireland.” She tested the nose cast and nodded, “Alright then. You’ll have to keep that cast on for six weeks, don’t fiddle with it. John likes your nose straight.”

Sherlock blinked, “He...said that?”

She nodded, “He did so you’ve got a good chance. Don’t blow it up.” She packed her materials away. “Oh and someone might want to warn Martha before she comes home to find a dead man inhabiting her basement.”

“I’m already on that.” Mycroft waved his phone in the air, pressing the keys quickly. “I’m not too worried though; Martha is a lot sturdier than she looks...though maybe you should invest in some sort of cup or something Sherlock, in case you get kicked again.” Then Mycroft grinned at Sarah. “Oh and Dr. Sawyer just to be perfectly clear, you do work for me. You run a government funded clinic...good luck finding a harem of men though. Ireland though, Ireland is cheap, you might actually afford to buy it.”

“Mycroft,” Greg’s voice was warning in tone.

“Yes Mycroft do shut up.” Sherlock pulled out his phone once more and began another search on how shock affected a gestating infant.

Mycroft huffed but went to lean against one of the walls, cringing at how his suit would look afterward, this place was dirty, dusty and water damaged...perfect for Sherlock in other words. There was nothing his brother could do to ruin it even more except blow it up and Mycroft didn’t think Sherlock would risk that with a pregnant John upstairs.

Sarah just shook her head and bid them goodbye. She needed to get home to a long, hot bath and a glass of wine.

**_To be continued…_ **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Eight._ **

Molly poked her head into 221c cautiously, knocking lightly then stepping in as she heard Sherlock’s familiar rumble from deeper inside. He was sitting on the floor with a laptop and his phone when she located him. “Sherlock?”

He looked up, brow furrowed in thought just clearing, “Ah Molly,” he tilted his head a bit, “You’ve gained a stone.”

She had to laugh, just a bit. It was such a _Sherlock_ thing to say. “It’s good to see you too. I...er...I brought something I thought you’d like.” She came closer and held out a bag to him.

He took it from her, opening it to find a photo album and two DVDs. As soon as he opened the album he understood. On the first page was an MRI image of an eight week fetus, details written beside it such as the date and time. 

“The um, the DVDs are just some videos of little moments I was around for, plus Christmas...” she trailed off, chewing on her lip nervously.

He trailed his fingers over the little alien looking thing in the image. Once again struck by how surprisingly good a friend Molly was despite how wrongfooted he could be with her. “Thank you.” He looked back up at her, “Really. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I'll just um, go and let you look through that. Uh, bye,” she began to flee.

“Molly?”

The confused tone of Sherlock’s voice made her freeze and turn back, “Yes?”

“How...how does one go about expressing their feelings in writing?”

She blinked then gave him a gentle smile, “You think about how something feels and then you just write it down. A letter for John?”

“Of sorts.” He looked down at his laptop.

“You should start with how you felt the day you knew for certain what you’d have to do. Don’t make excuses or try to use big, pretty words. Just...tell him how you felt; what you were thinking, and make sure he knows that you do love him.”

He nodded and set the album aside to pour over later, “Have a nice date with DI Dimmock then.”

She blinked and laughed again, “Should have figured you’d suss that out. Good luck Sherlock.”

 

oOo

 

Sally was miserable. She hated the hovel she was holed up in, hated London in winter and she hated John Watson. The man was her only loose end, the thing standing between her and a sunny beach in Brazil. Time was running out though, after Watson had his spawn he would be much more difficult to take down. He was an ex-soldier after all and even Sally knew what a parent would go through to protect their spawn. No, she had to take him out now while he was still swollen with the sick thing Sherlock had put inside him. 

She wasn’t a sniper; Sally knew she would have to get up close and personal to get to Watson. She had to get inside the Baker Street townhouse and she had to be quick getting in, killing Watson and getting back out again. She looked down at the toys Jim had left her. Sally could block any cameras and bugs for fifteen minutes. That gave her fifteen minutes to get in, dispose of Watson and get out, get away as fast and far as she possibly could. 

She had it planned, getting in would be easiest if going through the old lady, the back entrance in the old lady’s flat. Making the woman walk her upstairs so she could get in. Of course Sally would have to handle her as well but one more body hardly counted as long as she reached her goal. Oh Jim would have been so proud of her.

Only a few days left of this hellhole, then she’d be partying it up and rolling in money.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock had been watching his blog for John for a few days, hardly sleeping or looking away except when the nurse Sarah had managed to convince to come teach him the mechanics of baby care was here. He gave his utmost attention to those lessons especially after looking through all that Molly had brought him of the development of _his_ son, his and John’s. He’d written out his thoughts and feelings as Molly had suggested for that first post but the following ones were random, depending on what crossed his mind at the time. Whether it had been missing John or how angry he’d been knowing he couldn’t come back and see him until the snipers were gone and he’d ensured no more would follow. He wrote a post whenever the urge struck, and considering how easily he got bored it struck quite a bit. But so far no comments from John and no ‘hits’ on the posts themselves.

It was maddening. He set the laptop aside and got up, intending to pace a bit, when he heard something, an odd scratch and thump. He didn’t take time to process, instead he was out of the basement flat and rushing upstairs with the next breath, the gun Mycroft had arranged for him in hand.

Sally had gotten in pretty easily. The back door hadn’t even been locked. She smirked to herself; it looked as if this would be easier than she feared. 

The old lady had been watching telly, almost too easy to sneak up on her and put the knife to her neck. Now she was hurdling the woman toward the steps leading upstairs, she had just pressed the knife tighter against the old lady’s skin when the door to the basement flat slammed open. The flat that was supposed to be empty. The man emerging was even more unexpected and Sally actually stumbled, managing to prick the older woman’s skin with the knife. 

“You? You’re bloody well dead and gone.”

“Once more you fail to observe the obvious Sally. Clearly I am not, though I suppose I owe you a measure of thanks. I’d not have been able to return as soon as I have if you’d not killed Moran.” He clamped a lid on his fury at seeing the blood Donovan had drawn from Mrs. Hudson. “However you are trespassing so I’d rather you leave.” He tapped on his phone, appearing agitated when in fact he was sending Mycroft an emergency summons.

“You’re like the devil, you just won’t stay down.” Sally hissed her heart racing as she pulled the old lady more firmly in front of her, like a shield. “Actually though, this might be better. You get to watch as I cut the mini freak out of your dog. You get to watch them die before I’ll finally have the pleasure to kill you myself.”

Sherlock forced his anger into a small dark corner of his being; he couldn’t afford to lose his control no matter how furious the threat made him. “Really? And how do you plan to get around the very real guard dog that I can guarantee you have, even now, alerted John to the fact that there is a problem? You’ll have your brain splattered over the carpet before you have time to realize your miscalculation. You cannot turn your back on me yet if you go up the stairs backwards you’ll be attacked from behind by a thirty four kilogram Labrador with very sharp teeth.”

“Please, I’ve been watching this house for a long time; don’t you think I didn’t take the mutt into consideration? It seems you’ve lost your touch Freak. The mutt’s not even in the house, Dr. Sawyer is out with it for one of their daily walks, each of them about forty minutes long. Watson is up there all on his own, no backup, no time to get that pesky gun out. Watch me go get him; I’m sick of being your audience, now you can be mine.” She started to drag Mrs. Hudson with her, walking backwards up the stairs slowly.

The old woman shot her hands out, gripping the banister, and dug her heels in below a step, doing her absolute best to keep the horrible woman from getting any further up the stairs. She was old enough to have come to peace with the inevitability of dying one day and she was not about to let this awful creature harm John or the baby.

Sherlock brought his gun up, holding it steady, “No matter how you position yourself behind Mrs. Hudson there will always be a vital part of your anatomy exposed for me to shoot. I will not allow you to get further up those stairs no matter the cost. You will not touch my John or my son.” He kept his words measured and cold and made certain that Sally Donovan could see his intent. If he missed by some odd happenstance and struck Mrs. Hudson accidentally he would grieve and admittedly struggle with guilt but he could live with that. He could not, however, live with losing John or their son.

Sally felt the first slivers of panic slither beneath her skin and her grip on the knife tightened, piercing the skin of her hostage again. She had come too far to simply roll over and give up now. She had brought Sherlock Holmes practically to his knees once before and there had to be a way to do it again. Sally was just about to push the Hudson woman down the steps, into Sherlock and make a dash for the upstairs when the distinct sound of a gun safety being removed sounded behind her.

“I’m pregnant, not deaf. Now let Mrs. Hudson go because I _will_ shoot you in the head without a second thought.” John was leaning against the wall of the steps, the hand holding the gun as steady as a rock. He knew he shouldn’t be up and walking but how could he not be when he heard what was going on? He had to do something.

Sherlock tightened his grip on his own gun, his heart crawling up to his throat at the sight of John there, stomach round and prominent with their child. Dozens of scenarios where this could go completely, horribly _bad_ went through his mind. “And drop the knife at your feet. Any other action and John and I will drop you quite effectively.”

Oh God she hated these two men, hated them so very much. No matter how much she had asked and prodded, Jim had never really given her a reason why he let Watson live that night at the pool. Sherlock she could understand in some way, he and Jim had been dancing but why leave the dog alive? That was just asking for trouble. Now she had two guns trained on her and no way out. Sally didn’t like the feeling of being trapped; she didn’t like it at all. Well if she was going to die she would do it with flair. Following through with the desperate plan she’d come up with she pushed the Hudson woman into Sherlock and turned to lunge at Watson with the knife, trying to get it into that swollen, disgusting stomach.

John didn’t even blink as he pulled the trigger, the body of Sally Donovan, falling on the steps with a dull thud.

Sherlock had caught Mrs. Hudson but as soon as he had he’d given a murmured apology and put her to the side to leap up the stairs, over Donovan’s body, and he looked John up and down intently, a slightly shaking hand reaching out then stalling in mid-movement, not sure if John would welcome a touch from him. Likely not. He let his hand fall back to his side, “No injuries or pain?”

“No, I think I’m good...Might have to return to bed though.” John felt the strain on his pelvis and hips just from this short time being upright and walking. Walking the stairs was probably not the best idea either. “Just send Greg or whoever comes to my room and they can take my statement.” He met Sherlock’s eyes for a second before sliding his away, rubbing his belly with his free hand. “Are you alright Mrs. Hudson? Should I take a look at your neck?”

“No, no I’m fine dear. You should let Sherlock help you back upstairs though.” Her eyes shone with worry for John, “Going back up those stairs in your condition-”

“Would be massively stupid.” Sarah’s voice came from the hallway, a little strained by having to hold Sentinel back from charging up the stairs, probably to bite Sherlock on the arse. “I’ll take a look at Mrs. Hudson’s neck. Holmes you get John upstairs then get right back down here. Quick and simple.” Her tone brooked no argument.

Knowing that both Sarah and Mrs. Hudson were right, he honestly wasn’t sure he could make it back to bed on his own anyway; John reached out and placed it on Sherlock’s shoulder. Oh God, he could feel Sherlock’s skin through the shirt, warm and there and alive, it was something he’d thought he would never feel again and now he had no idea what to do. He had heard Sherlock’s words about his John and his baby but he didn’t know if he dared to believe them. 

Sherlock swallowed around the knot of emotions just that single touch brought to the fore and bent to heft John into his arm. He’d carried John before he’d faked his death, usually when John was injured, but it had been over the shoulder, a ‘bridal’ carry was a bit different. Far from unmanageable though. John still fit easily in his arms and the new weight was negligible and in all honesty it just felt so good to be able to touch John that he’d have carried him anywhere.

He ascended the stairs with his precious cargo in silence, slipping into 221b and back to their bedroom; he still thought of it as theirs and always would even if he wasn’t allowed to sleep here with John anymore. He carefully set John down on the bed, lingering just a shade before he gave him his space. “Do,” he cleared his thickened throat, “Is there anything you want before I follow Sarah’s orders to return downstairs? Water or tea?”

John’s ears were red from having been carried like that, being so close to Sherlock after so long. Oh there were plenty of things he wanted, he wanted so badly he ached but he wasn’t sure Sherlock could give him what he wanted, what he needed no matter how much he wished it so. “No...um...I’m good. Thank you.” He placed the gun back in the lockbox and then he didn’t know what to do with his hands, John settled on burying them underneath the blanket he’d pulled over himself to keep them from reaching out to Sherlock and beg him to stay.

Sherlock nodded, giving John one more sweep of his eyes and opening his mouth as if to say something then changing his mind before he slipped out of the room and went downstairs where a team of Mycroft’s Secret Service men were already dealing with the mess that had been Sally Donovan. He went to Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen and paused, taking in Mycroft’s presence as Sarah finished treating the cut on the landlady’s neck.

Mrs. Hudson spotted him first, “Oh Sherlock,” and she smiled, holding out a hand for him, “Is John alright?”

He stepped over and took her hand, examining the age spots and thin skin for bruising, “He appears to be but I doubt he would let on in front of me if he wasn’t.”

Sarah hummed as she tucked the first aid kit away, “That’s my cue to bring the beast upstairs then,” she snapped her fingers and Sentinel got to his feet from the corner he’d been laying in, pausing by Sherlock to lift his leg in a quick piss before following Sarah out of the room.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the act but otherwise didn’t react.

“Rabies, quite sure the brute’s got rabies or several brain tumors.” Mycroft was fighting both amusement and horror, he wasn’t quite sure what he would have done if the dog had urinated on his trousers but it wouldn’t have been pretty. “Must admit that I am rather relieved that there is someone the monster hates more than me.” 

His men were cleaning up now after having removed Donovan’s body. Mycroft had texted Greg with the details of what had gone down because he had learned his lesson about keeping secrets from his lover.

“I hardly think the dog is diseased Mycroft, merely protective and clever.” Sherlock squeezed Mrs. Hudson’s shoulder in silent apology for turning her to the side and risking the possibility of shooting her before.

She merely tutted, pat his hand and bustled down the hall to get him a towel.

Sherlock leaned against the counter near the sink, closing his eyes and knowing he’d never be able to delete the image of John standing there with a murderous Sally Donovan lunging for him. Just as he’d never been able to delete the image of John standing in front of his gravestone crying or the way he’d collapsed after his jump. They were the images that had haunted him through his time away and tested his resolve to remain hidden nightly. 

“That would be the last one of Moriarty’s spiders.” Mycroft stroked a hand over his silk tie, smiling a small, private smile as he felt the tie pin Greg had given him. “Your precious ones should be as safe as they can be, at least from Moriarty’s lingering shadow.” He looked at his brother. “I believe it is safest if we allow Sally Donovan to stay missing, despite it being fully justified, John’s actions would still be questioned. His condition known to more people and I don’t think he need the added stress of that right now.” 

“Agreed, however you or Lestrade will need to tell him that to prevent him from worrying about the consequences or possibility of a court case.” He opened his eyes and murmured a thank you to Mrs. Hudson on her return with the towel before he used it to pat his leg and foot dry.

“Still no reply on the blog then?” Mycroft fought to keep his usual bland tone of voice; any concern would be taken as pity and not appreciated. “I think I’ll let Greg pass on the news, John is not entirely happy with me either.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock gave his brother a look, “Lestrade is good for you obviously. You’ve lost that unsightly paunch.” And that was as close as Sherlock would ever get to an actual expression of gratitude for everything his brother had done for him.

Mycroft’s eyes softened before he smirked at his brother. “Yes well, he does see to it that I am exercised rather vigorously. You on the other hand need to put on some weight; you’re all skin and bones. You’ll give John bruises just from hugging you with all those angles.” 

“John rather liked my angles, as you put it, before this debacle so if he deigns to give me another chance I sincerely doubt that will change.” 

“I don’t think I want to know,” Greg came striding in and moved to stand beside Mycroft. “So I’ll just ask what the plan is about the corpse being dissolved in the hallway is, beyond the dissolving that is.” He’d give this to his lover’s people; they knew how to dispose of a body.

“We thought we’d let Sally Donovan stay in the wind, let just enough of her being a dirty cop leak out as to her disappearance won’t be questioned too thoroughly. Even in self defense and protection of his loved ones, John would have to go in for questioning otherwise, something very not good for him right now.” Mycroft moved minutely closer until their shoulders brushed together gently.

Greg shifted so that Mycroft’s taller body almost looked sheltered by his and nodded, “I’m the one who’s been volunteered to tell John then I take it.”

“Of course. Mycroft is terrified of the dog and I’d be more of a stressor for John at the moment.”

“No making fun of Mycroft for being nervous about Sentinel.”

Sherlock’s lips curved, “So that is what ‘Sen’ is short for. Appropriate.”

Lestrade eyed Sherlock, “You nearly got eaten by that dog and you like him.”

“It’s a clever, well trained, service dog that protects John, why would I not?” Sherlock look honestly baffled by Greg’s incredulity. 

“The dog urinated on Sherlock; I don’t know which of them is more damaged to be honest.” Mycroft’s slight smirk was back in place. “And yes, we would very much appreciate it if you were the one to tell John. As striking as Sherlock looks in his white plaster beak, I am not sure it would be the right look for me.”

Sherlock huffed and swirled about to return to 221C. He was going to begin an experiment on the effect of diaper cream when combined with various different liquids.

Greg chuckled and kissed Mycroft’s jaw, “I’ll just go on up then and let John know. Are you free tonight?”

“Barred anything unexpected happening I should be free yes.” Aware that they were still occupying Martha’s kitchen, Mycroft kept his answering kiss, light and proper before he leaned his forehead against Greg’s. “Donovan had something that turned off the cameras in the neighborhood, I was so afraid to come here and face another outcome.”

He lifted his hand to the back of Mycroft’s neck, careful not to muss his hair, and traced the skin gently, soothingly. “Knowing Sherlock and John it was probably a near thing but there wasn’t another outcome, thank God. It’s okay now, or it will be as time goes on. The Moriarty chapter is closed firm shut, time to turn the page.” his other hand rested at Mycroft’s waist, a warm, secure presence. “And silver lining, your sneaky boys will have a new toy to pick apart won’t they?”

“Ah yes, there is that. They do love to play with their toys, improve them and claim them as their own.” Mycroft smiled, one hand squeezing Greg’s shoulder. “I am very pleased that all the threats Moriarty left behind are gone now. Sherlock can finally formally return to the living, expect headlines in the newspapers as soon as John has gone through his C-section safely. Proof of Sherlock not being a fake lies ready to be leaked. I just want to make sure John, Sherlock and Benjamin are well and safe before I leak it.”

“Good man,” he bumped Mycroft’s nose with his, smiling, “Go run the world, I’ll head up to ease John’s worries and then tonight I am going to spoil you rotten.”

“Mmm, that sounds like an evening in my tastes.” Mycroft leaned in for a quick kiss. “I’ll be off then, be safe until tonight and give John my regards, I doubt he wants them but he has them all the same.” Mycroft brushed his palm over his suit and once he left Mrs. Hudson’s flat and walked past his men he was the Government right down to the soles of his hand sewn leather shoes.

Greg rolled his shoulders and sighed before heading up the stairs. Now that the Donovan issue was taken care of he’d finally be able to give Mycroft the Christmas present that was interrupted. With luck it would go well and then only Sherlock and John would remain to be sorted to make all right with the world. He hoped John would read that damned blog soon because if not the kid would be teething before his parents made any headway.

 

oOo

 

_I’m not certain how to do this. Feelings as you know are not something I am particularly good at expressing. I’ve asked advice on how to write about them and been told to write my thoughts and what I felt without words you’d need to consult a dictionary to understand. I will not explain all the events, neither of us need to be reminded of what happened as it is truly impossible to delete._

_Certainty of what I’d need to do came upon me after the arrest, when we were running from the Yard. It had been tickling in the back of my mind since Moriarty was acquitted but it had been low probability, at least I had hoped it would be low probability. I didn’t want to leave you John. I didn’t want any of what happened. I wanted to find that one clue, make the deduction that would stop it and I wanted to find it so desperately that my heart would race unaccountably fast when I thought I wouldn’t manage it._

_I fought, to find that clue, to make that deduction, to find any other way I swear that to you. I did fight even as I forced myself to prepare in case I didn’t find that clue and I tried to leave you clues as well to the truth of the matter. The rubber ball to start with, I played with it in front of you, hoping you would remember once the worst of the grief faded and make the connection._

_When you left to see to Mrs. Hudson and I climbed up to the roof, it hurt. It hurt knowing that I would be leaving you alone, a sharp pain starting in my chest and spreading through my stomach. Of course at that time I still had a slight thought that perhaps you were the only one in danger and I could reveal myself to you in the morgue, let you hit me, and then we could go off and bring an end to Moriarty’s network together. Still it hurt to think of letting you believe even for a moment I’d killed myself._

_Then he came and revealed that there were others with a sniper’s rifle pointed at them and I knew there wasn’t any choice. I couldn’t have you with me, no matter how badly I wanted you there, how badly I needed you with me, because it would have given it all away. The snipers would realize the truth and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson would be killed._

_I have been knifed before, I remember the sharp pain of it, and that was how it felt having to make that phone call to you. And you, God even after everything, I was standing up there telling you lies about how I’d been a fraud and you were refusing to believe it and the knife twisted. I left another clue there, in the conversation. I told you ‘It’s a trick.’ another thing I felt you would pick up on after the grief faded._

_That goodbye remains the second hardest thing I have ever done and certainly the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say. The hardest thing I’ve ever done however, you’ll be even angrier at me for and all I can say is, even beyond my painful regret over making you watch me jump and believe I was dead, that I am so very, very, immeasurably sorry John._

_I am not given to poetic turns of phrase but the only thing I can think of to describe the feeling of watching you at my grave is having my heart ripped out of me. I went there and watched because I needed one last sight of you, a reminder of the most important person, the most important thing in my life and nothing I have ever done, nothing I’ve ever been through, not being shot, stabbed, strangled or the withdrawal from the cocaine, none of it had ever hurt as much as standing there as you asked me for a miracle and being unable to step out and give it to you right then._

_I wanted to. I wanted to so badly John that I ached with it. I had to clench my entire body to keep from walking out and giving you what you asked for and it ached and hurt and I have never hated myself more._

_I can give reasons and excuses and none of them are enough, they are all not good. All I can do is explain and then let you know that I am sorry. I am truly sorry. I am sorry I put you through my death. I am sorry I made you grieve. I am sorry I did not give you your miracle when you asked for it that day. I am sorry for everything you have been through alone over these last thirty seven weeks. I am sorry I wasn’t there when you found out about your condition and the baby. I am sorry that you have been to every doctor’s appointment alone. And I am sorry for the stress I put you through on my return._

_I cannot ask for your forgiveness as I do not deserve it. I hope for it, selfish bastard that I am, but I cannot ask for something so precious when I do not deserve it._

_I only have ineffectual words to give you but there are six that are absolute truth._

_I am sorry._

_And_

_I love you._

_I do love you John, as bad as I am at showing it appropriately. I love you with all that I am and I will always love you no matter what. Even if you hate me, loathe my very existence, I love you._

_Forever yours  
Sherlock._

John read through the blog post before slamming the lid down on his laptop and shoving it aside. It only took a few minutes before he reached for it again and reread the post again and again. Jesus Fucking Christ, he wiped at his eyes, the hot, angry tears stinging at them. What was he supposed to do with this? What was he supposed to say and do? 

He understood Sherlock’s motivations, he really did get it but the knowledge that Sherlock had been at the cemetery and listened to him bare his soul, listen to him lay his bleeding and broken heart at that cold slab of marble...It hurt so much more than being shot ever had. 

John spent hours reading through every post on Sherlock’s blog, smiling at some of the experiments and small thoughts Sherlock wrote out, crying at others. It was nearing three am when he finally put his fingers to the keys of his laptop. He hadn’t a clue what to write, what he wanted to say but he had to say something.

_Sherlock, we can’t all be genius, brilliant and amazing men, you left clues yes but I am just a man, a very ordinary man who watched the love of his life die._

_I understand why you did what you did, part of me is even proud of you. Stepping up to protect the people you care for. It’s the sign of a very good man but know this. You killed me when you ‘died’. You killed me Sherlock, my heart still beat, air filled my lungs but I was dead. Every inch of color in the world was lost with you._

_You left me alone, you promised not to but you did. I trusted you with my heart and you broke it._

_You could have told me Sherlock...I would even have suffered staying behind as long as you’d told me._

_I love you, I love you and I always will but how can I trust you?_

_What if another madman comes along? Will you ‘die’ again? What if someone targeted our child? Would you arrange for our son to disappear? Would you let me grieve by his headstone as well?_

_How can I trust you?  
John._

Downstairs Sherlock read that question and didn’t have an answer. Even if he had he’d never have managed to type it because he couldn’t see the screen through his own tears.

**_To be continued…_ **


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Ten._ **

Greg put the finishing touch on the cake’s icing just as he heard the front door open and close. The dinner was already finished and the table was set with candlelight the only source of illumination. If Mycroft had been a woman he’d have sprinkled flower petals leading to the dining room but thank God he wasn’t. There were flowers on the table of course but nothing as ridiculous as overblown roses, it was a simple bowl vase with a stalk of hyacinth, some ivy, and myrtle. 

He carried the cake on its plate to the table and went out to greet Mycroft.

Pale blue eyes lit up with heat and something more as Mycroft put his overcoat away and placed his umbrella in its stand. He let his eyes rake over his lover’s form taking in the black slacks and the perfectly tailored shirt, clinging to Greg’s form. 

“If I knew this was what I was coming home to I would have been here even sooner, queen and country be damned. Also something smells absolutely delicious...The food doesn’t smell too bad either.” Mycroft walked over and buried his nose in Greg’s neck, breathing in fresh soap, a splash of aftershave and the wonderful scent that was all Greg.

Greg chuckled and cupped Mycroft’s jaw, bringing his head up for a brief, chaste kiss. “Well I’m glad you approve.” He trailed his fingers over Mycroft’s cheek, “Get a little more comfortable then join me in the dining room? I’ve got your favorites on the table.”

“That DI Lestrade, is an offer that I cannot refuse.” Mycroft smiled at his lover and walked toward their bedroom, taking off the suit jacket, waistcoat and tie, being sure to place the tie pin in its proper box and in its right place. He rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows and kicked off his shoes, Mycroft hated wearing shoes when he was at home, he liked to feel the carpets beneath his feet, squeeze them with his toes. 

Once he had shed the layers of his official self, Mycroft walked to the dining room, smiling softly at the sight of the candles and the setting. Gods it was wonderful to have someone to come home to. “This looks lovely.”

“Let’s hope you think the food tastes as good as the setting looks.” Greg smiled at Mycroft’s bare toes and reached out to run a hand down his arm. “Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo, steamed asparagus, and red skinned potatoes in lemon pepper sauce. And of course German chocolate cake.”

“Dear lord that sounds like heaven on a plate.” Mycroft nearly moaned and his mouth definitely watered. “Sherlock said you were good for me, that I’d lost my paunch but after this decadent temptation he might have to reconsider...Unless of course, you help me work it all off afterwards.” Mycroft licked his lips and gave his lover a smile.

“Oh I think a post meal work out can be scheduled in.” Greg pressed a nibbling kiss to the corner of Mycroft’s mouth. “Have a seat and we’ll get started.”

Mycroft reached out and latched onto Greg’s shirt, pulling the other in for a much more heated kiss. Once he’d finished his tasting of Greg’s mouth, after a suck on his lover’s tongue he released Greg and walked to sit down at the table. “Just needed an appetizer to tie me over.”

Greg grinned and sat down just across from Mycroft. Rather than set their plates at the head and foot of the table, he’d set them across from each other at one end so they were still close enough to touch each other. “So aside from the events at 221, how did your day go? According to plan?”

“Yes, nothing taxing or shocking, just business as usual.” Mycroft reached across the table and laced their fingers together. “How about your day? Not too bad after the talk with John I hope.” It was probably wrong to feel happy for someone’s death but Mycroft was glad Donovan was dead and he hoped that things would be easier for Greg at work now, that he would be allowed to form a team he felt comfortable working with.

“It was pretty smooth, all things considered. Did paperwork and helped a couple of constables subdue a PCP addict high off his arse in between planning for tonight.” His thumb traced circles on Mycroft’s skin, “And the talk with John went pretty well too. He was fine with not needing to be bothered with the mess.”

“Good, that’s good.” Mycroft truly honestly cared for both John and Sherlock and he wanted nothing more than for the two of them to get their heads out of their behinds and patch things up. It was clear that they belonged together, couldn’t live without each other but for tonight, for right now he wanted to put the mess his brother had made out of his mind and just focus on the gorgeous, amazing man sitting opposite of him. “I love you...In case I’ve forgotten to tell you that today.” He could forget, he knew that. Words of love and sentiment always felt stuck in his throat even though he felt them.

Greg squeezed his hand, his smile widening. He’d never tell Mycroft, mainly because he worried that the man might be embarrassed about it, but his lover talked in his sleep and none of it was about his job. Almost every night Greg was woken up for just a moment as Mycroft snuggled closer and murmured ‘Love you Greg’ry.’ in his sleep. “I love you too Mycroft.”

Smiling at his lover, Mycroft lift his fork with his free hand and dipped it into his food. Normally he would never eat with just one hand but he was reluctant to let go of Greg even for a little while. He brought the fettuccini to his mouth and moaned in pleasure. “Mmm, ambrosia of the gods this is.”

Lestrade just hooked his ankle around Mycroft’s under the table and nibbled at his own food while watching Mycroft enjoy the meal, making almost orgasmic sounds that were really bad for his control. He loved watching Mycroft actually enjoy his food, it was foreplay all of its own. Despite his cool, unaffected demeanor outside of their home, his lover was the most delicious sensualist. One day he was going to convince Mycroft to come on a holiday with him to some private place where he could get his lover to freely indulge all his senses without worrying about other people around. “God you’re sexy.”

Mycroft looked up from his food and locked eyes with Greg, his own turning a shade darker. He had never considered himself sexy in any way but for some reason, for some miracle he was sexy to Greg and that was all that mattered. Greg was the only one he wanted to entice. “You really are a strange man, all I’m doing is eating.”

“In a very sexy way, trust me. I am the one looking at you, and listening to you, right now after all.” Greg’s eyes were warm with both affection and stirring lust, “And strange or not I’m your man.”

“That you are, all mine, just as I’m yours.” Mycroft sucked on his fork and kept his gaze on Greg.

Greg knew his pupils were dilating just as well as he knew Mycroft had done that on purpose, “Careful or I might just decide to eat the rest of my dinner and dessert off of you and really that’s not supposed to be on the menu just yet.”

"Mmmm, you're not really enticing me to behave here." Mycroft looked into Greg's darkened eyes with a small smile playing on his lips. “For you I think I'd like to be spread out for you feast upon, food or no food covering me, making me all sticky."

He didn’t know if he made a groan or a growl but it was definitely on the list of hungry, lustful sounds. “I’ll put that on my list of ‘Things to Do With Mycroft’ for a future date, spring it on you when you’re not completely expecting it. For now though,” He got up just enough so he could pull Mycroft’s hand to his mouth for the sole reason of licking up the side of one long finger, taking it into his mouth, pulling it out slowly while sucking so his cheeks hollowed, then nipping the tip as it popped out of his mouth, “I’ll take that taste and stick to my plan for tonight.”

Mycroft’s pulse jumped and he could hear it thumping in his ears. Greg’s mouth was so warm and wet and lovely and suddenly Mycroft wanted more than fingers inside it. How could Greg possibly think he could finish dinner and dessert now that he was harder than stone? “What exactly are your plans for the evening? Aside from a delicious dinner, a good workout and being an immeasurable tease?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you,” Greg’s eyes gleamed with wicked amusement, “And teasing turnabout is fair play baby. You know I like to give as good as I get.” He turned Mycroft’s hand and pressed a sweet, affectionate kiss to his palm, “Though I do have a selection of massage oils for after that workout. I told you I was going to spoil you remember?”

Mycroft made a placated hum and shifted a little so he could rub his thumb over Greg’s cheek. He loved that Greg gave as good as he got, he needed that, needed to know that to be able to let go and be himself through and through. “Massage oils are lovely, especially that one that smells like almonds but you know that you don’t have to spoil me. All I really need is you.”

He leaned into that little touch, “I like spoiling you. You don’t get spoiled enough.” 

“I will simply have to spoil you in return because you deserve it.” Mycroft just had to figure out how to do it, most of his spoiling attempts involved buying things and he knew that wasn’t the way to go with Greg.

He shook his head and smiled as they moved on to the cake, “I don’t think you realize how much you already spoil me. I’ve noticed those sneaky little CCTV cameras moving away when I do something that might, possibly, get me into trouble, just as I’ve noticed them trained on me like a laser when I’m on a dangerous case. There’s also the evenings when I _know_ you’d normally have to work late yet you slip into the library or rec room to join me. And the lunches,” his lips twitched, “I think yesterday makes forty eight mysterious lunches that have shown up on my desk with Anthea’s handwriting on the bag.”

“Is that so? It seems I’m going to have a very serious conversation with my assistant, it looks as if she’s got her eyes on my man, feeding him and such.” Mycroft’s eyes went wide and impossibly innocent, especially for being a Holmes. A small smile played on his lips though. He hadn’t done those things to spoil Greg though and he was amazed that it could be that easy, that it didn’t have to be more complicated than that. Maybe he wasn’t completely hopeless after all.

Greg snorted, “Anyone but me and that innocent look might actually work. Anthea doesn’t jump during working hours unless you give the go ahead and I know it.” He knew it very well because he’d seen an after work Anthea sigh just a bit dejectedly when John and Sherlock had gotten together romantically and her eyes had been a bit wistful on John. 

“I will admit to nothing.” Mycroft took a small sip of the truly excellent wine Greg had chosen. “Hypothetically speaking though, were the lunches favorable? Anything that should be added or removed?”

A warm chuckle and Greg nudged Mycroft’s toes with his, “You don’t have to admit it, I just know. The lunches are good, nothing missing and nothing needing to be chucked. Thank you.”

Mycroft just smiled and moved his foot so he could run his bare toes under Greg’s trousers, stroking them over Greg’s calf. Of course he needed to take care of his lover, he’d seen what Greg lived on at work before he’d begun arranging the lunches and that was not food for human consumption.

Greg let the footsie pass and returned the play as he ate his own cake and watched Mycroft licking frosting and cake into his mouth with those blissed out sounds. The closer they got to the end of the meal the more nervous Greg felt. He knew that the evening and their relationship wouldn’t be ruined if the answer to the question he was about to ask was no. He loved Mycroft and nothing was going to change that and he knew the other man loved him so if he said no, that was fine. They’d continue living together and loving each other. Still he was nervous because it struck him just how badly he wanted the answer to be yes. So much more than he’d ever wanted anything except perhaps to have shared custody of his children.

“I’m not sure this cake is entirely legal, nothing this...this _amazing_ can be legal.” The chocolate cake was a decadent temptation and Mycroft couldn’t resist it, no more than he would ever be able to resist Greg in any aspect of his life. He finished his cake and barely resisted the urge to pick up the plate and lick it.

The DI’s eyes crinkled, “My Nan taught me that recipe, I’ll be sure to convey that to her. I’d hate for someone to have to arrest her.” He got up and rounded the table so he could sit in the chair beside Mycroft, wiping a slight smear of frosting away from the corner of his lover’s lips, “I had planned on giving you this for the morning after the Christmas party but we both know that got turned upside down.” He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and pressed it into Mycroft’s hand.

Every sign of mirth disappeared from Mycroft’s features as he looked at the small, square box as if it might attack him at any second. He slid his eyes from the box to his lover, trying to read him before looking back at the item in his hand. Candlelight, dinner, temptation and now a velvet box. It didn’t have to mean what Mycroft thought it meant, he’d been wrong before, not often but still, it happened. He gingerly flipped the lid open and met his lover’s eyes. “Greg...”

He cupped Mycroft’s cheek, “I considered hundreds of fancy, poetic things to say but really the fancy and poetic just get in the way of the core of it. I love you, and no matter what your answer I’ll still love you and I’ll still stay with you and be happy because I’m with you. I want to marry you though. I want the world to see a ring on your left hand and know you’re taken and all the rest can just fuck off and go cry in their cornflakes because you’re taken. If something happens to me or something happens to you I don’t want some arsehole doctor turning the other away because of ‘hospital policy’ or any other bullshite,” they certainly were pretty or fancy words but they were honest to the core, “Will you marry me Mycroft?”

“Don’t be idiotic, it doesn’t suit you...Why would I ever say no?” Mycroft looked down at the simple, tasteful ring inside the box. “I’d be proud to wear your ring. Have you thought this through though Gregory? Living with a man is one thing, marrying one is another matter...It will not make it easier to get shared custody of your children.” 

He traced his knuckles over Mycroft’s cheek, “I know and I thought it through. Might not make it easier but that just means that when I do finally get shared custody Cynthia can’t sneak up from behind and take it away again if I marry you after I get shared custody. Not to mention I’m not going to let her force me and certainly not you to put any part of our lives on hold because she’s got a bug up her arse the size of a rugby ball.”

“Charming imagery there Gregory.” Mycroft wrinkled his long nose but couldn’t completely disguise his smile. He picked up the gold ring from the box and held it out to Greg. “Well then, I suppose you’d better ring me. We’ll take on that shrew of an ex you have together. Yes Gregory Lestrade. I’d be happy to marry you.”

Greg took the ring and slid it onto Mycroft’s finger, leaning in to catch his lips in a slow, loving kiss. 

“Mmm.” Mycroft looped his arm around Greg’s neck and held him close as they kissed. He could feel the ring on his finger and strangely enough it didn’t scare him. It felt like coming home. He pulled away and breathed against Greg’s lips. “I fully expect a matching ring on your finger even before the marriage...As stated before, very, very possessive here.”

He smiled and nibbled delicately at Mycroft’s bottom lip, “Anticipating that, I might just have spoken to the jeweler,” he kissed his way along a sloped jaw, “and requested that he hold the matching ring for one Mycroft Holmes to come in and purchase.”

“Good, we’ll go pick it up as soon as they open tomorrow.” Mycroft tilted his head and nibbled at Greg’s jawline. “So my husband to be...Could we please get started on the workout now?”

Greg grinned and shifted his hands to catch Mycroft under the bum and lift him as he stood. “Oh yes, we can.” He made a purring sound of approval as Mycroft’s legs wrapped around his hips as he walked to the bedroom and caught his fiancé’s mouth with his again.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock paced and drummed his fingers and muttered and riffled through his mind palace until he’d nearly up ended it before he finally gave in and phoned his brother, his scowl deepening with every ring. It was the middle of the day. Mycroft had better be in negotiations to keep someone from dropping an atomic bomb on Buckingham Palace if he didn’t pick up.

“Yes Sherlock what is it?” Mycroft answered, keeping his voice light and pleased just because he knew it would annoy his brother. He pushed his lunch salad away, knowing that if Sherlock actually called him then it probably meant that lunch time was over.

“The cottage and farm in Sussex that Nana left me, is it still in good repair?”

A dark brow went up. “The Sussex estate? Of course it’s still in good repair, I look after everything don’t I? Can’t keep by big nose out of your things as you so pleasantly inform me on regular intervals. It’s in good shape and it’s still yours. You have a very lovely couple who tend the land and keep the houses in order.”

“Are there any recent photographs of it?” Sherlock spun and began tapping out a spate of text on his computer, “The sort you might find if it was up for sale, showing off its best.”

“What are you up to? Either you are really trying to sell or you’re trying to impress...Not sure what would be more disturbing.” Mycroft couldn’t help but be intrigued. “There are some photos from this summer, you know that country places always look their best in summer. I’ll get Anthea to e-mail them to you right away.”

“Not impress and certainly not sell. Selling would be counterproductive.” Sherlock paused, “John asked how could he trust me after everything. If I would do the same if another madman came after us.” He looked over at the album Molly had given him, “The estate is part of my answer.”

“A safe place? I can bury your ownership of it so deep it would take an archaeologist to dig it out if you need me to. It would be yours but no one would know about it.” Mycroft wanted Sherlock and John together. His brother needed John and John needed Sherlock. This was one of a very few times when he didn’t have a hidden agenda. “Anthea has sent the photographs, you should have them now.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock opened his e-mail and downloaded the photographs to post on the blog along with the entry he was making as his reply to John’s comment. He didn’t bother telling his brother that anyone with Moriarty’s skill set and cleverness could dig it out without the archaeologist because the goal was not to have a safe place to run to if things got dangerous. It was a more long term solution that he had in mind if it was what John needed to trust him again.

“You’re welcome little brother, just let me know if you need anything else. I am in a particularly good mood today so strike while the iron is hot.” 

“Dangerous suggestion however if that empty outbuilding still stands, perhaps a fully functioning lab would not go amiss.” He knew John would worry about him feeling trapped or stagnated no matter what Sherlock could protest to the contrary so the more things that he could suggest stood to offer him what John had once called brain food the better. “Would I be correct in offering congratulations?”

“You know you are correct so why bother with pretence? Don’t know exactly when it will be yet but I would be proud if you stood up with me.” Mycroft glanced down at his ring. “And yes, I think a lab could be procured for the outhouse, be careful though so the locals won’t think you are making drugs in there.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock tapped his finger on the edge of the table, “dull. If Lestrade needs ammunition for the next custody hearing, incentive for Cynthia to at the very least play fair, tell him to arrange a raid on the gambling hell off West India Avenue on Friday.”

“My turn to say thank you. I will pass the information on to Gregory and he can do what he deems fit with it.” Mycroft would love to take care of the situation for Greg but he knew better than that. “Best of luck with what it is that you are planning Sherlock. Those of us who have actual jobs really do need to return to them now. Call if you need anything else...Depending on my mood I might trade you another favor for a case.” He grinned and hung up.

Sherlock merely cleared his screen and murmured, “You may have to amend that thought brother.” Then he turned back to the blog. He didn’t see the reason for titles mostly, something John had always despaired over, but this time he used one.

 

oOo

 

**TRUST**

_I would not put you, put us, through this again. I do not think either of us would survive it. However as you asked, how can you trust in that? I have words but my actions would make you doubt them would they not?_

_I will not offer a comforting lie. It is possible if I continue taking cases that I could attract the attention of another madman of Moriarty’s skill set and intelligence, a low probability but possible. And it is possible that such a man could again put my brother ‘on the ropes’ as they say. How do I prevent such a thing or prove that the overall well being of both you and our son, including emotional well being, are now my complete priority? The answer is, of course, simple._

_I cease taking cases._

_No, don’t look like that. I know what you are thinking John. Do not think that I would consider such a decision lightly or without due diligence to the pros and cons. I have weighed every possibility in my head. I could take cases, small ones, ones provided by my brother, that offered little chance of a ‘madman’ but it would still draw public attention would it not?_

_I know you think I would go spare but just looking through a modern text of human development, I cannot see how parenthood could ever bore me, not with a child from you and I certainly. Babies develop so quickly from day to day and discover new things every moment. How could I grow bored watching our child make discoveries? Children are always so inquisitive and curious and adventurous, it’s astounding everything a child can think of to ask or consider. Did you know the AVERAGE four year old tends to ask four hundred questions a day? Our child, I would think, would certainly be above average and ask so many more. How could I grow bored with such an active, busy mind wanting to learn?_

_And yes John I can see you in my mind’s eye coming up with arguments about tedium and normalcy and how you think I would still need an escape. If we were to stay in London then 221c could be permanently converted into a complete laboratory, never again would you find body parts, insects, nor arachnids in the refrigerator as there would be one for such things down here. If I needed an escape I could come down here, work on a myriad of experiments, and be within voice’s reach if you or our son needed me. There are outings to parks and museums and zoos and the like for variety as well._

_That’s if you wish to remain in London. There is another option._

_That is a cottage on farmland my grandmother left me. A safe distance away from the cottage there are bee hives, you recall being subjected to my many lectures on the fascination of bees I am sure, the plants in the gardens all have some medicinal value as my grandmother believed strongly in homeopathic therapy and was very picky about what herbs and plant she used, preferring to grow her own. There is a peach orchard, several different varieties so the number of genetic experiments I could conduct on peaches is innumerable, a pond, algae and wildlife to study, and an outhouse that can be fitted to become a lab._

_I am not trying to impress you (Mycroft’s assumption) or bribe you. I am explaining that I would not be bored without cases so long as I could be with you and offering you examples of what I could do so you can not argue to the contrary. You cannot bore me you know. I still find you utterly fascinating and I rather think I still will long after our son has children of his own._

_The thing is John, I cannot prove my trustworthiness. That is the nature of trust, it cannot be proven. I can only offer proof to you that you and our son are more important than the work and that I have means aplenty to keep me occupied without cases if it is what is necessary to prevent another Moriarty from coming after us._

_Again I will not lie and tell you I won’t miss working cases. I will but without you the cases would be mere distractions as they had been before I knew you. That is what they were you know, distractions, toys to keep my mind from rotting, means to maintain my ‘sociopathy’ so I could not be injured. Then you came into my life and gave everything meaning. The work became something important beyond a distraction because of YOU._

_Without you it means nothing._

_I love you John. More than I have ever or will ever value any case that could exist. But I do not know how to earn your trust back if you cannot let me, if I have hurt you too far beyond you ever seeing your way to giving me that chance. And I would not blame you if you never gave me that chance._

_Still I am, as ever, yours  
Sherlock_

John read the post and actually growled so that Sentinel looked up in alarm. He cracked his fingers and slammed them onto the keys as he attempted to type up a reply.

_Jesus Christ...You great...tall git! You still don’t get it do you?_

_Read through your post again will you? It is great that you can do experiments and live in London or Sussex and give up being a consulting detective. Jolly for you. You, that was what your post was about, all about you._

_What about what I want?_

_Does it matter?_

_It’s not about the danger, it never was...I quite like the danger if you recall._

_The only thing I want Sherlock, is for us to make the decisions about our life together. That is the only trust I need. For you not to pull shite behind my back and leave me behind._

_Now get upstairs, we need to talk face to face._

_John_

A slam and a flurry of footsteps later and Sherlock was peeking around the doorframe like a naughty child afraid of being scolded for sneaking out of time out.

John snorted. “Gun is locked up and Sen’s been told to behave just get in here will you. I’m not going to throw something at you or hit you.”

That might be preferable to Sherlock, words had far more impact than physical blows for him but he came inside the bedroom anyway. He grabbed a chair and set it beside the bed. He’d rather sit on the bed with John but he didn’t know how welcome that would be. Settling his long frame onto the chair he turned his attention back to John, once more mapping out his face and well everything about him.

“I had a dream last night, well a nightmare really. About you jumping, about drowning in your blood and not being able to get to you in time. Woke up screaming your name. That’s not unusual, the point is that then I remembered that you were just downstairs, alive and warm and breathing and I realized I can’t give that up, can’t give you up.” John wasn’t looking at Sherlock though; he kept his gaze on the mound of his stomach instead. “I just need to know that you get it Sherlock, being a couple and soon being a family...You can’t lie to me anymore. Can’t make decisions that affect the both of us, affect our lives without telling me about them. I can help, I _want_ help. We won’t always see eye to eye or agree but we can do it together, it just can’t be all you. You are not alone anymore so please, please get it.”

“I do.” He spoke quietly, “I...I did not think you would simply believe my promise that I would not keep you in the dark about problems and dangers again.” Sherlock knew all too well that some promises were not worth the air they took to speak them.

John looked up to meet Sherlock’s eyes, really meet them for the first time in much, much too long. “I’m a simple man Sherlock, if you promise me and mean what you say then I believe you. Just as I mean every promise I make to you, I won’t break them.” He took a deep breath. “Now come over here and let me hold you.” 

Sherlock was aware that he was trembling as he slid up onto the bed next to John, his hands shaking in a way they’d not since his last time going through withdrawal as he tentatively put his arms around John.

“You huge, brilliant, moronic pain in the arse...I love you so much.” John turned a little so he could wrap his own arms around Sherlock in return, as much as he could without the belly getting in the way. He buried his nose in curly hair before moving and placing light kisses all over Sherlock’s face, being careful not to jostle the plastered nose. “You haven’t been eating, that will change because you are going to set a good example for Benjamin.”

Sherlock leaned his face against John’s in a tender nuzzle, his eyes having slid shut in a futile attempt to keep the tears forming behind them from escaping. Being here, John holding him again, it was just a little too much for his strangled emotional foundations to keep his composure completely. His voice was steady though when he asked, “Benjamin?”

“Mmhmm, Benjamin Johannes Watson-Holmes.” John moved a hand to rake his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, his heart pounding at being able to touch again, knowing that Sherlock was alive and there with him. He took one of Sherlock’s hands and slid it beneath his jumper and shirt to rest on the bare skin of his stomach. “Our son.”

Sherlock smoothed his hand over the taunt rounded belly, ignoring the faint tremor in his fingers as he did so. His mind was, of course, speeding through all the gestational data he’d read over and anatomical data and his intimate knowledge of John to figure out how much was baby and how much was support for the baby and how big the baby was right now. His brows jumped up in surprise when he felt a _thump_ against his hand. “He’s strong.”

“He is yes and just as fidgety as his daddy.” John smiled at the marveled expression on Sherlock’s face. “Not all comfortable at times. As you no doubt already know, my uterus is behind my intestines, so every kick is very much felt. It’s all fine though, it lets me know he’s there and well.”

Another thump had Sherlock’s lips curving up and his mind readjusting his deduction on the weight of the baby, “Nineteen point twenty four percent,” it was a rumbled murmur, “The rest of the weight gain is support for him, blood volume increase, amniotic fluid, placenta and such, he’s nineteen point twenty four percent of the eleven point eight kilograms.” Anyone else it would be the equivalent of calling John fat but from Sherlock, especially with the amazed smile on his face, it was nothing less than a declaration of utterly besotted wonder.

John just chuckled. “I’ve missed your sweet talk.” He was not going to mention to Sherlock just how much he’d struggled to be able to gain those needed kilograms, it was Sherlock, he would know soon enough anyway. If he didn’t already. That didn’t matter now, the future did, their future. He maneuvered Sherlock so he could press his lips against Sherlock’s.

The sound Sherlock made held the flavor of John’s name but it wasn’t a whimper, he would never, never admit that it was a whimper but oh God to have John’s lips on his again after so long. He’d missed this, missed everything about John but especially his kisses. John had a way with a kiss that left you in no doubt of what he felt and Sherlock sank into this one. The hand that wasn’t on John’s belly came up to curl around the back of his head, a tender, delicate hold as Sherlock tried to put every single emotion his crippled soul was capable of into the sweet touch of lips. All of the longing of the past eight point two five months, all the desperate need, the regret, the hope, and most of all the endless love he felt for John was communicated in that simple, gentle kiss.

John felt it all and it left him crying, this time though it was good tears, cleansing tears. He hadn’t kissed Sherlock since the night their child was made and even then the kisses had been desperate, what with the running from the police and knowing that Moriarty was out there posing as Richard Brook. John continued to card his fingers through Sherlock’s hair as he held on to the man he loved and kissed him. John knew that he would never, ever let go again.

Sherlock tasted the tears, the drops running into the corners of John’s mouth, and feathered soft, barely there kisses up John’s cheek to kiss the tears away from his eyes. Then all of a sudden he felt something push into his back then squirm around his side, a big black furry head reaching over his shoulder to whine worriedly and lick at John’s face. Sherlock made a slight grunt but didn’t complain as the dog had maneuvered so that he wasn’t bumping John’s stomach.

John chuckled and grunted as he pushed the big fur-clad head away from his face and wiped at his now even wetter cheeks with his sweater sleeve. “It’s okay Sen, it’s all fine. Nothing to worry about, I’m good as gold, see?” He scratched behind floppy ears and down Sentinel’s neck. “We are going to have to do something about your breath though.” He looked at Sherlock. “Sorry if you got trampled there, Sen’s a worry-wart.”

“It’s fine.” Sherlock offered his hand to the dog to sniff, not startling when the Labrador took his hand in its mouth very lightly and made a short, non-hostile growl before releasing it and allowing Sherlock to pet under his chin. “He’s a clever dog. Mycroft thinks I’m stupid for not being afraid of your Sentinel.”

“Well Mycroft is convinced that Sentinel is a soulless demon, we do our very best to enforce those beliefs, don’t we boy?” John chuckled as Sen gave an agreeing bark. “It’s just highly amusing to see Mycroft Holmes lose his composure over a black lab of all things.” 

Sherlock gave one of his long rolling chuckles and shifted so that his head rested on John’s shoulder and he could smell the skin of the other man’s throat. “Foolish, Mycroft I mean. A moron could see that Sentinel is simply very good at his job and well attuned to his owner. As I said, a clever dog.”

“Yes, that seem to be my fate, to live surrounded by blokes much cleverer than myself.” John heaved a put upon sigh though his amusement could be heard through it. “It’s a tough cross to bear but someone has to do it.” John kept his arms around Sherlock, stroking over his shoulder and back lovingly. “Why don’t you get some sleep love? I’ll be right here holding you, promise.”

Sherlock’s eyes were already drooping, an exhaustion built up from months on the run, hiding, and the strain of fearing he’d never get John back making itself known. Still he tried to protest, “Might not be wise right now. Don’t want to hurt you in my sleep.” He’d developed nightmares from many close calls and when he did sleep he often woke thrashing around.

“I’m not made of glass, if you start flailing I’ll push you away or have Sen bite you in the bum. I’m very familiar with nightmares and I know how to handle them.” John continued with his soothing touches. He could see how utterly exhausted Sherlock was and he wanted to take care of him. “Don’t worry love, just sleep, I’ve got you.”

“I love you,” Sherlock’s hand stayed on John’s stomach, feeling the restless movements of their child inside and the fingers of his other caught and hooked into the back of John’s jumper, holding on as if afraid he’d disappear as he dropped off into sleep like a stone.

“I love you too.” John whispered. “Christ do I love you.” He squirmed into a more comfortable position, smiling gently when Sherlock’s fingers tightened in his jumper before relaxing again. John closed his own eyes, listening to Sherlock’s soft breathing mixing with Sentinel’s huffs of breath. For the first time in almost nine months this bedroom finally felt like home again.

**_To be continued…_ **


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Eleven._ **

Hours passed with Sherlock sleeping like the dead but, just at the onset of twilight, he began twitching and his head started jerking, his breathing growing heavy and fast.

John put down the book he’d picked up after he’d woken up and began to run his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp hoping to wake him up gently if Sherlock was having a bad dream. “It’s okay Sherlock, it’s all fine.”

Sherlock’s head jerked violently back, a sound of denial breaking from his throat before he flung his body backwards in his sleep, rolling off the bed and impacting with the floor. Which of course woke him up, a gasp like that of a man coming up for air breaking from his lips as he jerked up into a defensive crouching position automatically until he noticed his location.

“Good morning, or evening rather.” John’s voice was warm with affection. He wanted to ask Sherlock if he was alright but it was clear he wasn’t. John knew firsthand how crippling and utterly devastating dreams could be and he ached for Sherlock that he had to have them. He would just have to do everything he could to replace Sherlock’s nightmares with good dreams.

Sentinel shuffled so he was hanging off the side of the bed, sniffing at Sherlock on the floor.

Sherlock cleared his throat, voice a little rougher than usual, “John.” He hauled his body off the floor to sit on the bed again, patting Sentinel absently when the dog nearly stuck his nose in his ear. He moved so that he was brushing against John’s side again.

“Hi there.” John turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock’s temple. “Tea? I have a thermos right here by the bed.” John had most of his life surrounding him in the bedroom, it was horribly, terribly boring being stuck flat on his back in bed.

The corners of Sherlock’s lips twitched. John, dear, sweet, wonderfully predictable John and his belief that tea solves everything. He pressed his face to John’s neck, “Not at present.” His nose twitched a bit, “Herbal tea, soothing and digestive aid. Ginger and chamomile, the scent is in your collar so you spilled a bit earlier.”

“Ah yes, thank you for pointing out by dribbling.” John was grinning. “I’m afraid it’s all herbal right now, Benjamin and caffeine is not a good combination for anyone. You should have tasted the swill I drunk before Dr. Weisz showed me the light though.” It was nice seeing Sherlock smile again, even if it only was a twitch of lips. “He told me he was the one who delivered you.”

“Mmm, yes.” Sherlock laid his hand over the swell of John’s stomach, once more covered by his jumper. “Mother spoke about that quite often during small gatherings where he’d been invited. I’d not seen him since before leaving for uni.” It had been...interesting to see the old doctor again despite the scathing lecture he’d delivered.

“He’s been wonderful, I was lucky that he took me on as a patient.” John covered Sherlock’s hand with his own. “Sarah’s a damn good doctor but she’s not a surgeon and getting this little one out of me will be a wee bit complicated.”

Sherlock made a sound that tred the line between concern and acknowledgement, “But he’s your surgeon so you and the baby will be fine,” it held an undertone of unconscious demand. He really couldn’t countenance anything but John and their son coming through the delivery safely; if he so much as tried he’d lose his mind. His fingers wiggled and twitched absently, “Why Benjamin?”

John twisted again and met Sherlock’s eyes. “Really? You can’t tell? Can’t deduce it?” 

“Not for Benjamin. Johannes is obvious, the astronomer and mathematician really John,” he tutted, “But there are too many meanings to Benjamin, too much data.”

John chuckled and the tut but grew serious again quickly. “I thought about it and tried to think of names that would matter to you, that you would approve of. Benjamin for Benjamin Franklin and as you so very correctly stated, Johannes for Johannes Kepler. And yes...Johannes might be me thumbing my nose at you ever so slightly.”

Sherlock nuzzled John’s nose with his, silent apology, “They’re good names and far less likely to inspire playground bullying than the sort of names my brother and I were saddled with.”

“Hm, your brother suggested Sherrinford.” John smiled and gave Sherlock a quick kiss. “You do have a say you know, if you have any other names you would like our son to have then tell me.” John had believed that he was on his own; he didn’t want Sherlock to feel excluded. It was a difficult situation but it was all worth it to have Sherlock there with him.

“Mycroft is a tit.” Sherlock’s eyes flickered in irritation and he set a reminder to annoy his brother for the suggestion of Sherrinford, bastard. Then he set it to the side and shook his head, “I like them. In Hebrew Benjamin means son of my right hand and Johannes is a German derivative of John, meaning God is gracious,” he lifted his free hand and smoothed down a rogue tuft of John’s hair, “Both are appropriate.”

“Well I am glad you approve, I’ve kind of grown attached to the names of Benny-Jo here.” John’s eyes sparkled as he used the nickname Sarah had mentioned. “I didn’t know that Benjamin meant that though, now I’m even surer it’s a fitting name for a Holmes....Well Watson- Holmes. And yes, Mycroft is definitely a tit, hence King Tit. He has been...less annoying that he could be about my pregnancy though, it might be because I think he’s a bit afraid of Sarah.”

A twitch at the nickname was all that Sherlock displayed in possible disapproval before he gave a rumbling chuckle, “That is a pleasant thought. Mycroft afraid of Sarah, she is startlingly formidable, surprising.” He sounded pleased.

“Why is that surprising?” John was curious. “I could see right away that she was and is a wonderful person.” That was why he’d done the misguided attempt at dating her, there were no lingering feelings though, they had both realized their mistake very quickly on. “She’s the best friend you can imagine, without her...pushing and support I would never have gotten by.”

“A good person, a good friend yes. That is not the surprising part.” His fingers trailed down John’s jaw in a soft, absent stroke, stubble prickling under his touch, “Rather she thwarted Mycroft, stood up to thwart him. That is surprising. I know of only three other people not related to him or who did not see him in short pants who are capable of standing up to Mycroft.”

“I applaud everyone that thwarts Mycroft in any way; he needs to be thwarted so that he doesn’t grow complacent.” John shivered underneath Sherlock’s touch; he’d missed it so much, longed for it and thought it lost. “I gave her kick arse boots for Christmas...I think you became intimately introduced to them.”

“Indeed,” it was a dry drawl. He’d noticed the shiver and firmed his touch, giving to John without words. “Steel toes, workman grade, half a stone in weight. If she wears them often she’ll gain defined muscle tone similar to a dancer’s legs.” Rapid fire deduction as was his wont, “Fortunately no permanent damage was suffered.”

“Truly fortunate indeed.” John was leaning into Sherlock’s touches like a touch starved kitten. He couldn’t help it. Without Sherlock, life was misery; John needed Sherlock in every aspect of his life. “I’ve missed you Sherlock...so much.”

Something clicked into place in Sherlock’s head, a realization that had been stewing and twisting and building for months. He pressed his brow against John’s, his hand curving around his neck, “I know. I am sorry,” he turned the hand on John’s stomach, lacing their fingers together, “I was wrong,” an unheard of admission from Sherlock, “I was so wrong.”

“I wasn’t blaming you or trying to make you feel guilty.” John nuzzled Sherlock’s cheek with his nose. “I know why you did what you did...It hurt, not going to lie, it nearly killed me but I do understand. From now on though...it’s you and me, doing it together.” 

“Yes. But I meant it, I was wrong. I...don’t know how to explain this. I apologize if what I say is not good,” He tried to gather the chaos of his head into coherent words, “I needed you, I wanted and needed you to know the truth, that I was alive, but I let everything get tangled...I didn’t think. I just reacted and kept reacting.” He’d not once slowed down in the time he was gone, constantly on the move, constantly working, never really resting even when asleep, and never having any sort of respite even inside his own mind. John had always been his respite from the world at large but he’d cut himself off from that, from even the certainty that John was thinking of him and believing in him. He’d in effect cut off his right hand, a necessary component of his being.

“It’s good, I hear you.” John wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around Sherlock, kissing his neck, his jaw line, behind his ear. “I get it I do, you are a part of me...I’m a part of you, as cliché as it might sound. It’s been a while but I think I’m still pretty fluent in Sherlock. I love you, you gorgeous nutter. I always will and I will not let you go again. From this moment on, where you go...I go.”

He nodded, his arms slipping around John in an equal embrace. Later would be a discussion about the work and balance and family. Right now was building bridges and mending what had been torn. His lips brushed over whatever skin was in front of them tenderly, “You always knew. From the start John. You defied everything I’d been conditioned to expect from anyone and understood.” It still caused a strange flutter, how John hadn’t insulted him for his deductions or assumed he’d been the murderer, or attacked him for the stunt with the phone. 

“You nearly knocked me on my arse that first day. You shine Sherlock and I knew that if I could help you shine...even in the slightest, as the conductor you say that I am then my life would be of use.” John didn’t really know how to explain himself, unlike Sherlock he wasn’t brilliant or well spoken, he could only be himself. 

Sherlock squeezed him, not hard, just a light squeeze around the shoulders, “Of use? You’re essential. John you don’t just conduct my light, you keep me from burning myself up.”

“Always will, even when you get all stroppy I will never stop taking care of you. Starting with feeding you and make sure you sleep.” John tried to sound stern but even he could hear the smile in his voice.

Certainly Sherlock heard it and it made him smile as well before his phone’s alarm began to go off, making him stiffen in attention before controlling his body’s urge to leap downstairs to check his experiment. It wasn’t a volatile experiment and he could easily restart it. He was comfortable right where he was.

“Go if you want, I know what your experiments mean to you. I’ll be right here, in this same spot when you get back.” John pecked Sherlock on the forehead. “You are free to do whatever you fancy down there in that moist basement but you live here...better remember that.”

He brushed his lips over John’s quickly, “Not possible to forget. This one won’t take long actually. I’m measuring the absorption ratio of the sodium polyacrylate crystals found in disposable diapers.” That said he was off the bed, out of the room, and heading downstairs in a flurry.

Shaking his head, John ran his hands over his belly. “You’re daddy is a real nutter Benny-Jo, amazing though. You are going to love him so much, just as I do.” He leaned back against the headboard, petting Sentinel as the dog stole Sherlock’s spot, snuggling close.

 

oOo

 

Sarah came up the stairs and stepped into the flat then froze at the smell already filling the air. It resembled baking bread, melted cheese, and ham. She looked into the kitchen and dropped the grocery bags as she saw Sherlock standing there at the stove, a turning spatula in hand. “What are you doing?”

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at her, “Dinner.”

She blinked and walked closer to peer around him at the panini’s cooking on the grill frying pan, “You can cook.”

“Of course I can cook, it’s simple chemistry and timing.”

“Ooookay,” she backed away and went up to see if John was aware of what was going on in his kitchen and to take Sentinel out for his walk, “John there’s a genius in your kitchen.”

“I’m aware.” John beamed at his friend. “I think it’s a first time without there being body parts in there with him. Smells nice though, doesn’t it?” He watched Sen dive off the bed and attack Sarah with kisses and a madly wagging tail. 

She pet and scratched the dog into a puddle of bliss while looking at John, that beaming smile just about making her melt into a puddle of relief and happiness herself. “So he’s there with your approval then?”

“He is.” John nodded. “I had another dream, one of the bad ones and when I woke up I realized I’d wasted enough time. Sherlock is alive and I am not going to lose out on one more single day with him, life is much too short for that.”

She smiled then, “You already look...brighter. Not that you looked dull before but I think you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean. Life without Sherlock...It’s like surviving in a gray scale, nothing really sparks but with him...It’s like setting up house on the fucking rainbow.” John returned her smile, hoping she would get it because he couldn’t explain it any better.

She got it but at the same time it was funny, two men, setting up house on a rainbow. The pun was right there but she wouldn’t make it. She did giggle though. “I’ll tell Chryssa to start coming up here instead of down in C then.” Off John’s confused look, “A neo-natal nurse who’s been teaching Sherlock how to care for a baby.”

“Christ almighty...This Chryssa person must have the patience of a saint.” John loved Sherlock with every fiber in his being but he also knew him and knew how he could appear to people he wasn’t close to. “Still...he’s willing to learn...” John’s smile was utterly besotted. 

“Willing? I have never, not once in all the time I’ve been practicing or even _alive_ seen a prospective father so eager to learn everything he can about taking care of a child.” She perched on the edge of the bed and pat John’s hand, “And this was before he was certain if you’d let him in to your and Benny-Jo’s lives.”

John’s smile turned a little sad. “No matter what could have happened between the two of us I would never have kept him out of his son’s life...He must know that right?” He gave Sarah a look. “Still I’ve never met anyone as eager to learn all he can as Sherlock, as long as he deems it important that is, otherwise he just deletes it.”

She squeezed his hand, “Intellectually and consciously I don’t doubt he knows you’d never have kept him from Ben but...I don’t know him John, certainly not like you do, but the subconscious is a funny thing and it seems to me that he might just expect for what makes him happy to be taken away once he makes a mistake. A sort of ingrained fear, I could be wrong though,” she shrugged, “Like I said I don’t really know him. You do though so it’s what you think that matters. Now, I’m going to put the groceries I brought by up then take Sentinel for his walkies.”

That word sent the dog into a tailspin, barking in joy and turning in circles in front of Sarah. John couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, I’m not giving Sherlock up now that I have him, my genius and I intend to keep it that way, as long as he wants me, he has me, no matter what.”

“Alright then. The beast and I will be back soon,” She smiled and got up, looking down at the dog, “Alright Sentinel, go get your leash.” The lab bounded off like a shot and she followed with a short wave to John.

Not long after Sherlock came back in, a tray of the ham, cheese, cucumber, and basil panini’s and steaming cups of the freshly brewed herbal tea in his hands.

“Mm, that smells absolutely amazing.” John sniffed the air in pleasure, he loved basil and he could feel his mouth water. “Now that I know of your hidden culinary skills I will not hesitate to use them.” He smiled up at the love of his life. “You’ll share the meal with me right?” 

Sherlock set the tray down and opened his mouth to say that he wasn’t hungry but something in that look stopped him. The times that he’d ached to have John there nagging him to eat flashed through his mind and he found himself settling beside him, “Perhaps some.”

John’s eyes softened and warmed and he gave Sherlock a beaming smile. “Good, I will settle for some, some is good and fine.” He patted the empty spot on the bed next to him. “Dinner time, first shared meal in nearly a year, that’s worth celebrating.” He looked around until he found a lighter and lit a tea candle on the bedside table. “There...Angelo would be proud.”

A laugh rumbled in Sherlock’s chest as he scooted closer to John, “He knows his business. It is more romantic, sentiment,” the word held fondness rather than derision. Between him and John sentiment was a good thing. It was the rest of the world who made less so. 

“Romance...What a strange word really. It can be whatever you want it to be. Romance isn’t the same for any couple.” John’s smile stayed in place. “What I do know though, is that candle light makes you even more beautiful, it takes my breath away.” He reached out and traced his fingertips over a sharp cheekbone. 

He leaned into it, his eyes half closing like some great cat being stroked, “Hyperbole. I would be most distressed if your breath truly disappeared.”

“Hm, we’ll both have to do our best to keep that from actually happening then, for either of us.” John continued with his soft caresses until a very loud, very embarrassing growl from his stomach made him drop his hand and reach for one of the panini’s instead. They really did smell divine.

Sherlock picked up his mug of tea and sipped. He would have preferred black tea but so long as John had to drink the herbal he didn’t want to put temptation within his reach. He watched as John took a bite, hoping that he enjoyed the food. He’d calculated a balanced nutritive meal that would nourish both John and their son best for the particular meal and time of day however he was aware that taste mattered and if it didn’t taste good to John he’d wind up picking at the food and not really eating.

“Mmm and it tastes even better than it smells, oh yes, definitely going to take advantage of this cooking thing.” John grinned at Sherlock and licked his lips, savoring the taste of melted cheese, crispy bread, ham and fresh basil. It was wonderful. John couldn’t wait to actually sit at a table to have his meals again but right now with Sherlock next to him, eating in bed and getting crumbs everywhere didn’t seem so bad.

He couldn’t help but smile back and when John held the panini to his mouth he took a bite, indulging him. “Lestrade proposed to my brother.” Completely random but something he felt ohn would like to know about as Lestrade was his friend, “Molly is dating Dimmock, and my brother’s assistant has a new interest.”

John blinked, chewed and swallowed as he tried to sort through the information Sherlock had just hurled at him. “Greg and Mycroft’s getting married? Blimey...Good for them I guess but it’s quite a scary thought. Molly and Dimmock, hmm, I think he will treat her like she deserves to be treated. If not I’ll let Sarah don her boots and kick his arse. And Anthea has a new interest? I wasn’t aware she had an old one.” He held the panini to up to Sherlock again for another bite.

He obligingly took a bite, “More frightening than you know. As for Anthea, she’s had three relationships since becoming my brother’s PA, all of whom seem to expect that she will change how she lives for their sakes as they grow tired of her loyalty to Mycroft after no longer than three months. Morons.”

“Morons indeed.” John hummed in agreement, lifting his cup to take a sip of tea. “Hopefully this new interest will be the one to accept her for who she is then. When even Mycroft can find someone to put up with him then Anthea should as well.” John couldn’t say he’d ever really considered Anthea’s happiness or private life before but everyone deserved a shot at a functioning relationship and it was nice, just making small talk with Sherlock. 

Sherlock chuckled, “If Mother had her way then she’d match Anthea up with Cousin Basil but Anthea makes it a point to avoid Mother’s matchmaking schemes no matter how good she is at them.” An expression approaching a grimace flickered over his face. He was not looking forward to the guaranteed visit his mother would make once Mycroft informed her of his continued existence. 

John caught the grimace and he felt his own eyes widen. “Oh Christ Sherlock...You didn’t let your Mum know you were alive. That’s just not on Sherlock. I mean...Harry and I aren’t the closest of siblings but she would kill me with a rusty spoon if I’d put her through that. Don’t wait for Mycroft to ease the way for you; you need to let your Mum know.” Truthfully John was a little bit wary of Mother Holmes, he had never met the woman but she had raised both Mycroft and Sherlock...That alone spoke volumes in John’s mind. He wondered what she would think about her first grandchild being carried by a man, a common man none the less.

“I’m not worried about my Mother being angry, it is simply that I don’t want her to visit until after Benjamin is delivered and you’re taken off bed rest because as soon as she knows she _will_ visit. It’s how she is.” He played his fingers along the edge of the tray, “And I don’t want you to be cornered if you don’t want to be.” He’d come by his propensity for pushing people and getting into their personal space and cornering them honestly. His mother was a past master at it. he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to his brother. 

‘Do NOT inform anyone, ESPECIALLY Mother, of my return until after John is taken off bed rest. And let me tell Mother when it’s time. - SH’

“I do hope Mother’s old contacts have retired.” It was a frowning murmur.

“Cornered? Old contacts? I’m not sure I want to know.” John looked a little bit wild as he finished his panini.

Sherlock’s phone chimed with a message.

‘Don’t be ridiculous Sherlock. Mummy already knows, who do you think informed me you were back at Baker Street that day? - M’

Another text followed that one, this one making Sherlock look pained.

‘Darling Bradley is not as good at keeping things from me as he likes to think and I am ruthless, not heartless and well remember being abed after having you. Tell John I will meet him in person, two days after he is taken off bed rest and that I fully expect to be allowed to cuddle my grandson and spoil him terribly. Also, number sixteen in France Sherlock? Really I thought I’d taught you better than that. - Love Mother’

He passed the phone over to John so he could read the message. 

John both looked amused and slightly horrified as he read the text message. “Oh dear lord...She’s like a mix between you and Mycroft isn’t she? All genius wit and scheming mind.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, telling himself that it didn’t matter but he still wanted to make a good impression, wanted Mother Holmes to like him, to approve. “What’s this number sixteen thing then?” John looked up at Sherlock.

“Mother was an MI6 agent during the Cold War, a double 0,” Sherlock heaved a put upon sigh, “Number sixteen is one of twenty methods she taught me, and Mycroft as well, to cover our tracks if we thought we were being followed.”

John’s jaw dropped and he couldn’t care less. “Your Mum’s bloody James Bond? No wonder you never wanted to watch the movies with me, you lived it.” As a soldier John had believed he was prepared for nearly anything but not this.

“Not precisely. I never want to watch the films because every time I do all I can hear is my mother using frankly appalling language to insult Fleming, the directors, scriptwriters, and actors for their ham handed attempts at turning her profession into entertainment.” He reclaimed his mobile to send a reply to his mother about sixteen’s suitability versus twelve’s, “Some things cannot be deleted no matter how hard one tries.”

John just chuckled; he had no idea what else to do. The lives of the Holmes’ were like some fantasy, sci-fi, thriller book that didn’t really make sense but you couldn’t put it down anyway. He was still a little intimidated about meeting Mother Holmes but not enough to worry about it, he’d survived Sherlock and Mycroft hadn’t he? “Well, no teaching Benjamin any cover his tracks business until he’s at least twelve okay?”

Sherlock wasn’t the one John would have to worry about in that regard but he didn’t say so. “Agreed,” he tapped his fingers on the side of his mobile then turned it off, setting it on the bedside table. No one would be calling about cases and quite honestly he did not wish to banter with his mother right now. It was usually an enjoyable pursuit but he’d rather just spend the time with John uninterrupted. “I would be correct in presuming that incendiary experiments, ones involving severely corrosive chemicals, possible poisons, human body parts and/or certain fluids are also off the table until he has experienced similar sorts in secondary school yes?”

“You would be very, very correct in presuming that yes.” John’s tone was dry. “Feel free to experiment together with him but nothing flammable, poisonous or simply gross until secondary school. Also, no dissections of roadkill, no matter how educational it could prove.” 

Sherlock’s lips pursed, “What if he asks without any prompting, suggestions, or implications from me?”

“If he asks then we answer, of course we’ll answer. Let’s just save the actual demonstrations for a little bit down the line alright?” John reached for Sherlock’s hand and brought it up to his lips for a gentle kiss.

He smiled and rubbed his thumb in little circles over the back of John’s hand, “So long as I don’t get the blame for anything he undertakes on his own, I’m agreeable.” He looked up at a thump and then toward the door just as Sentinel came barreling into the bedroom and over to the side of the bed to sit and wait for permission to jump up. “Ah, Sarah has returned.”

“Obviously.” John teased, voice filled with affection. He gave Sen permission to jump up and was proud of how carefully the dog moved around him and his stomach so that he could greet John with kisses. Sherlock though, ended up with a face full of wagging tail.

“I’ve got to say, that’s a sight that amuses me more than it probably should.” Sarah watched as Sherlock used his free hand to provide a tail stop so he wasn’t getting slapped in the face with it. “So he cooks, was it edible?”

“Delicious.” John replied and ordered Sentinel to sit so he would hit Sherlock with his tail anymore. “Both me and Benny-Jo are full, content and nourished.” He smiled at his friend. “I hope you and Sentinel had a nice walk together.”

“Always do. You know he’s beautifully behaved,” she returned John’s smile, “Not to mention wonderful protection. I wonder if I could get the name of the man who trained him from Greg? A therapy dog at the clinic would be wonderful and I could use a live-in companion.”

“I don’t see why Greg wouldn’t tell you who trained him, if you can pry him away from Mycroft that is.” John grinned. “Maybe you might even have to be polite to him.” John didn’t mention anything about what Sherlock had said about Greg and Mycroft getting married. Maybe they didn’t want to go public yet. “If you can’t get a dog though you know you can borrow Sen for the clinic, he loves being useful.”

“Ugh, being polite to Mycroft Holmes,” she wrinkled her nose, “It’s possible but is it worth it? Though Greg seems to find it amusing more than exasperating. I know you’d let me borrow Sen but I’d rather you came with him since he might mope if you’re not there.” She noticed that Sherlock was absently scratching along the dog’s back and the furball was close to melting into a blissed out puddle of canine goo.

John noticed too and it made him happy, he wanted his two blokes to get on with each other. “I don’t know...I don’t think Sentinel would mope if he was being adored and cuddled by other people. I don’t think you should hold my spot at the clinic Sarah, I think I’ll be busy for the foreseeable future.” John had thought about it long and hard and now with Sherlock’s return he knew he would never, ever be bored even if he quit his job at the clinic.

She nodded, “I thought you’d say that eventually. Do you plan to continue the online consultations?” She saw Sherlock’s scratching twitch just a bit and was fairly certain that the conversation had a very big piece of his focus now.

“I might yes. It’s gone better than I can ever have imagined. Both the patients and I are breaking new ground there and I’m not sure I’m ready to give it up. I don’t think I’ll ever completely be able to stop being a doctor and the online consulting could be the best spot for me, at least now.” John scratched behind Sen’s ear absently as he spoke. “Also the consulting can be combined to fit with babies and geniuses.”

She chuckled, “Or baby geniuses as the case probably is.”

“High probability,” Sherlock spoke in his rapid way, “Both John and I are possessed of a high IQ, the only difference is what we keep in our minds and how we organize it.”

John lifted Sherlock’s hand again and pressed yet another kiss to it. “Benjamin will be amazing however he turns out. Genius or not he will never be average and he’ll always be loved.” 

“Well of course.”

Sarah blinked. It had been a pragmatic, ‘that’s obvious’ tone, hardly the sort you’d expect sweet nothings or admissions of love in. She’d known from the very first meeting just how connected Sherlock was to John, how much he needed him. You really didn’t date crash as he had if you were heavily invested. But still she’d worried and wondered, despite the way he’d thrown himself into the baby care lessons, if there was room in Sherlock’s limited emotional landscape for anything but John. She had her answer in those three bluntly honest words. “And spoiled rotten too. I do wonder who will be the worst offender in that.”

“I think it will be a heavy competition...in the lead of it I expect Mrs. Hudson of course and maybe Mycroft, if he’s allowed back inside here by then.” The hand that wasn’t holding Sherlock’s went to his stomach. “Who wouldn’t want to spoil a miracle?”

“No one in their right mind,” Sarah looked down and pulled her phone out as it chimed, “Oh-oh, I need to go,” she gave John a smile, “I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

“Go be the brilliant doctor that you are, see you tomorrow.” John gave her a beaming smile. “Be safe and take care of yourself.” He waited until she had left before turning to Sherlock. “If it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, I would really like it for Sarah to be our son’s godmother.”

Sherlock’s head tilted, “Why would it make me uncomfortable? She doesn’t hate or insult me and she’s been invaluable to you. Who else could be Benjamin’s godmother?”

John shrugged. “I thought you might want Molly to be it. I just want you included Sherlock, want you to decide right along with me.” 

A slow shake of Sherlock’s head, “Not Molly. Molly would be good at being maternal but a soft maternal. She would not be able to stand up to someone like my brother under any circumstances.”

“No, you are right about that. Sarah can and will stand up to Mycroft anytime necessary.” John shifted so he could lean against Sherlock’s shoulder. “Sarah for godmother then, who do you wish for godfather?” So much had happened while Sherlock was away, John had made every decision and he wanted Sherlock to know that he wanted his input, that Sherlock and his opinions mattered.

Sherlock wiggled his fingers and toes, his head turning this way and that as he thought, “I...don’t know. The only one who crosses my mind as appropriate will soon become our son’s uncle so who else is a possibility?”

“Uncle doesn’t have to exclude godfather you know and I can’t really think of anyone else either. He’s already a brilliant father if only that shrew would let him be one and he’s strong of character and has a loving heart. I think Greg’s the only possibility actually.” John smiled at Sherlock’s little fidgeting, he’d missed that too, even when still, Sherlock was never completely still. It was endearing.

“Then Lestrade,” he returned the smile for no reason other than it made him pleased to see John smiling, “Online consulting John?” It was a request for information on whatever else John had been doing aside from gestating.

John’s smile turned sly. “Can you really imagine me just lying around doing nothing? I might have to have gone into hiding once I couldn’t pass for just fat anymore but I’ve never been one for being idle. Sarah came up with the online consulting idea, I was hesitant at first but it has actually worked brilliantly. Common colds and swollen tonsils are quite easily spotted even through a computer and most people just want advice anyway. It works for me.”

Sherlock settled more comfortably, “Tell me? What you’ve done the last eight months, deducing is easy but I want to hear you.” He wanted not just the facts but what was behind them, the emotions that drove his John.

Thinking about what to say, John snuggled as close to Sherlock as he could before he started talking, telling him about those dark, dark days at the beginning and then just continuing, telling Sherlock everything.

He held John and listened, occasionally twitching when John described particularly bad moments, and gently running his fingers along John’s jaw or over the belly in comfort and a silent ‘I’m here’ assurance. He listened until John fell asleep in mid-story of finding out the gender of their child, and then he kissed John’s temple and let the new data filter and file through his mind.

**_To be continued…_ **


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Twelve._ **

John woke up to soft touches and a soft, low, purring murmur. When he opened his eyes he was greeted by a head of dark, curly hair bent over his belly and warm, gentle hands touching it as Sherlock talked to his son. John wasn’t quite awake yet to make out just what Sherlock was saying but that didn’t matter, the scene itself made John’s heart ache with love. 

“And of course the idea that moss only grows on the north side of a tree is a fallacy. Ideal conditions for moss growth is dampness and shade so if the west or south or east side of a tree would happen to be shadier than the north then the moss would grown on that side.” Sherlock kept his voice at a soothing rumble though he did know that John had awakened. He had already noticed that their son seemed to still, as if listening, when he spoke and, since he was certain a great deal of movement would awaken John, he’d settled down to tell the baby whatever came to mind to both acclimate Benjamin to his voice and allow John to get some undisturbed rest. Scientific facts, historical data, and the occasional tale from his own childhood.

Reaching out, John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair carefully, carding through thick, glossy locks. He loved Sherlock’s voice, it made his stomach flip and shivers run up and down his spine. It had since the very first day John met him. Listening to Sherlock talk to Benjamin had an entirely different heat spread to him. Sherlock would be an amazing father and John would get to witness it happen. “I love you Sherlock Holmes, more than science could ever measure.”

Sherlock just turned his head so he was looking at John, cheek still pressed to the mound of their child, and gave him a smile, “Love has never been a quantifiable thing, because it grows in unpredictable patterns and at unpredictable times,” one hand curled around John’s wrist, “Did I ever thank you John?”

John frowned in confusion. “Thank me for what? You have nothing to thank me for love.”

He rubbed his thumb over John’s pulse, “I do though. You showed me that I could love as well. That I was capable of it and more, that I could be loved.”

“Oh love, it would be impossible _not_ to love you Sherlock. I’ve never met someone more amazing in every way. I’ll always love you for just who you are and you never, ever have to thank me for it.”

Sherlock just brought John’s hand to his mouth and kissed the palm. John might think that but he knew different. He knew that no one, even his mother, had ever been capable of loving him just as he was. Only John did that. Everyone else tried to change him, to force him to conform to their expectations and desires, or to control him. John...John just loved him. 

John smiled and stroked his fingers over Sherlock’s face, mapping out all the lovely angles and planes with the tip of his fingers. He would have loved to stay like this for a very long time but sadly his bladder had a different idea. “I’m sorry love, need the restroom.”

“Okay,” Sherlock sat up and moved so that John could lever himself out of the bed.

John huffed and squirmed and finally managed to get his feet on the floor so he could get out of bed. He’d only taken a few steps toward the bathroom when a stabbing pain went through him, nearly causing his knees to buckle. Oh that wasn’t right at all, something was very clearly not as it should. One hand went to his stomach and the other reached out to flail for something to steady himself on if his legs would go out on him.

“John!” Sherlock was beside him in a second, a hand resting next to John’s on his stomach, his other arm going around his waist. His eyes took in everything in record time, the ripple under his hand adding to the data, and his mouth went dry, his stomach flipped, and he turned an impressive bone white. He allowed himself one tremble, one simple tremor, before he met John’s eyes, “The baby’s coming.” It wasn’t a question. “Do you still need to urinate?”

“Nope, it seems it wasn’t my bladder after all.” John’s teeth were clenched around the rather staggering amount of pain he found himself in. “This is too fast, it’s happening too fast. Shouldn’t there be a gradual build up? I’m a doctor, I should know this, why don’t I know this?” An edge of fear had crept into John’s voice. Then he stood stock still as something went through him again. “...Fuck, Sherlock, I think my water broke, that or I just pissed myself in a very awkward angle.”

“Shh, it’ll be okay. We just have to get you to Dr. Weisz,” He kissed John’s temple then Sherlock’s jaw flexed and he snatched his phone up, turning it back on and dialing Mycroft, the hell with it being morning. He helped support John to the dresser and as he changed into another pair of pajama trousers. 

“I thought you would be busy getting reacquainted Sherlock so what honor do I owe this phone call?” Mycroft sounded awake and up even though the sun had barely risen. He’d spent the last half hour watching Greg sleep.

“This is not time for any banter Mycroft,” Sherlock’s voice was a bit sharp but it was understandable, “We need a car at Baker Street _now_. John is in labor.”

“What? Already?” Every sign of amused drawl disappeared from Mycroft’s tone. “A car will be in place when you get downstairs.” Mycroft always had one stationed near Baker Street on stand by. One never knew when it would be needed. 

The tone of Mycroft’s voice had Greg awake between one breath and the next, his hand curling over his fiancé’s bicep, brows furrowed in concern.

Sherlock handed the phone to John so he could use the speaker while he bent to help John on with his shoes, “Thank you. Will you call Dr. Weisz and let him know we’re on our way?”

“Of course, I’ll call him right now, take care of John and we’ll meet you at Dr. Weisz’s.” Mycroft hung up so that he could call Bradley. He turned to meet his lover’s eyes. “John’s gone into labor, he needs to get to Bradley quickly.”

“Oh bugger me,” Greg rolled out of bed and began dressing, “Is it too soon?” He frowned and thought hard, “Thirty eight weeks now right?”

“I don’t think it is dangerously early. The baby should be fully developed.” Mycroft replied as he waited for Bradley to answer his phone. “What worries me is that it will happen too fast, that John will be pushed into a natural birth that will be very dangerous for him and for Benjamin...Oh pick up!” He raised his voice at the phone in his hand. He didn’t like this, didn’t like being worried.

Greg zipped up, tossed on a t-shirt and went to stand behind Mycroft, rubbing his shoulders. It was a scary prospect, John having a natural birth, but he had a genius with him and two doctors who could be put into a Skype call on the smartphone if it got that desperate. He didn’t tell Mycroft to calm down, just stayed there, rubbing his shoulders when the phone was finally answered.

“Hello yes?” Dr. Weisz’s tenor came a bit sleepily over the line.

“Bradley, this is Mycroft. John’s gone into labor; he and Sherlock should be on their way to you as we speak.” Mycroft fought to keep his tone calm and cool as usual. Inside though he was very concerned. Concerned for John, for his brother and for his nephew.

“Oh, impatient isn’t he? I’ll get Janice and have the surgical room ready for them.” Despite his age and the ungodly hour, the man sounded alert, “Has Dr. Sawyer been notified?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t think so. I believe John and Sherlock have other things on their mind.” Mycroft turned to Greg, covering his phone with his hand for a moment. “Greg, could you call the lady doctor?” Then he turned back on the phone. “I’ve asked Gregory to call her.”

Greg nodded and got out his own phone, dialing Sarah’s number. It was answered on the first ring and Sarah began speaking before Greg could even say her name.

“They’ve called; I’m already on my way to Weisz’s. Get your fiancé and get moving, family in the waiting room is a must, especially if we wind up having to send Sherlock out of the delivery room.”

The line clicked off and left Greg blinking, “Bloody Christ that woman moves fast when she’s stirred to.”

Mycroft only raised a brow and finished his call with Bradley by letting the doctor know that they would be there shortly. Then he walked over to his closet and selected his suit for the day, just because they were in a hurry there was no excuse not be well dressed.

Greg shook his head and smiled, “I love you.” He went to press a kiss to Mycroft’s jaw, “I’ll be waiting in my car. we’ll get there faster with the sirens.”

Nodding, Mycroft continued to get dressed, slipping gold cufflinks through his shirt and tying his tie perfectly before putting on a pin striped waistcoat and flawlessly pressed suit jacket. He doubted that Greg’s sirens could get them there faster than Mycroft’s car could but he wouldn’t tell Greg that. Sometimes his fiance could be such a stickler about breaking the law. He hesitated by the door and then he grabbed his umbrella and walked out to join his lover in the car.

Greg slid a look over at Mycroft. He knew what his lover was thinking about the car. However Mycroft had never been a passenger in Greg’s car when he was in a bloody hurry. All he said though was, “Buckle up.” If John had been in the back seat he’d probably have snorted and told Mycroft to buckle up and hold on to his bloody arse.

 

oOo

 

John grunted in pain as the black car finally turned in on Dr Weisz’s driveway, he held on to Sherlock’s hand tightly even as he did his best to hoist himself out of the car. He had not screamed when he was shot and he wouldn’t scream now though he wanted to...He really wanted to because this did not feel good in any sense of the word. 

Sherlock had only managed to convince John to let him carry him down the stairs, after that he’d gotten a look of such violent warning he was left wondering what would have happened had Moriarty tried kidnapping John in the middle of labor...Jim bits all over the sidewalk probably. So instead he let John grind the bones in his hand and walk as he liked. Sarah might pitch a fit but he’d just direct her to John.

Speaking of the woman, she poked her head out of the clinic door and scowled darkly at her friend. “John Hamish Watson!” She came out, pushing a wheelchair, “Reckless, stubborn, prideful idiot.”

“What? I’m not an idiot just because I don’t want to be carried by someone who could break in half from the weight of me.” John did sit down in the wheelchair though without any complaint. He wasn’t entirely sure he would have made it all the way inside on his own two feet but he would bloody well have done his best. He did not release his grip on Sherlock’s hand even though he was sitting down. 

“I saw him lift you up to carry you up those stairs, he’s twiggy but I doubt he’d break.”

Sherlock just let the two bicker and kept pace with the chair as Sarah wheeled it into the building and toward the back. He slid a look over and saw Mycroft, a rather paler than usual Mycroft, sitting next to a smirking Greg just before they moved into another room where Janice was clearly prepping a needle large enough to make Sherlock want to squirm.

John got out of his clothes and into a hospital gown with Sarah and Sherlock’s help; he was beyond modesty at the moment. He didn’t even flinch at the sight of the needle, John just wanted the sweet relief the needle would bring when he was given the epidural. 

Sarah took the needle from Janice after sterilizing the area it would be inserted into and injecting the local anesthetic, “Do you want to hear the joke about a tiny prick?”

Sherlock noticed that the nurse looked scandalized but couldn’t help his chuckle.

“Don’t make me laugh now Sarah, not when you’re about to plunge that thing into my spine.” John was smiling though, hearing Sherlock chuckle, really chuckle and not acting always put a smile on his face. 

Janice went to see if she could help Dr. Weisz with anything, actually just wanting to get away from the giggling loons in the room for a while.

Sarah hummed softly, “Okay deep breathe in,” when John complied she slid the needle in, fed the catheter through, then slid the needle away, epidural in place, “and there we are.”

“Thank you.” The words came out low and heartfelt as John felt his spasming body relaxing. He wasn’t a big fan of drugs but he wasn’t fool enough to pass on any help he could be given. 

She pat his shoulder and gently directed him down onto the surgical cot, “Oh you’re welcome luv. Weisz is scrubbing up, he’ll be in as soon as he’s done and we’ll get this circus taken care of.”

“Okay, that’s good.” John nodded; feeling both fuzzy and too alert at the same time if that was possible. Sort of like he’d felt in the army when he knew he would face battle. “I don’t think it’s too late for a C-section, it doesn’t feel like Benny’s moved too much...Well right now I’m not feeling much of anything but you know what I mean...” He was babbling and he knew it, he just couldn’t stop.

Sherlock bent to bring their joined hands to his lips, kissing John’s fingers and stroking his other hand along his arm, “I don’t think he moved much at all. Your contractions are still eight minutes apart.”

“I’m not even the slightest bit surprised that you’re timing my contractions...It’s comforting really.” John squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “I’m glad I can still be sliced open, less stress for Benjamin, his safety and health is what matters.”

Sherlock’s thumb stroked the side of John’s hand, “Of course I am timing them. That is what one does when attending a pregnant person in labor is it not?” He looked earnestly questioning.

Just then Dr. Weisz came in with Janice, “Ah well most without a medical degree just panic. Trust your son to be impatient young man.”

Sarah worked in concert with the nurse to set up the sterile field and curtain that would block John and Sherlock’s view.

As everything was set in place, it hit John that this was happening, it was really happening. He and Sherlock would be parents after this. They would have a whole new person to take care of, shelter, teach and love. It was bloody terrifying but John thought they were ready for it, as ready as they would ever be in any case. He looked up at Sherlock. “You can go look on the other side of the curtain if you want.” He couldn’t imagine Sherlock not wanting to witness everything that was happening; besides this would be an opportunity for him to see how a person with chimerism might look on the inside.

Sherlock was certainly curious but he shook his head, “No. I’ll stay here.” It was one thing to see John in danger and keep himself calm and controlled in the heat of a moment, it would be another thing entirely to watch as someone cut into him layer by layer with the intention of pulling something out. After so long being worried about John’s safety, it would be a more than a bit not good for him to witness that.

“Indeed you will young man as you are not looking over a sterile field unless you’re wearing scrubs.” Dr. Weisz’s tone was calm, almost jovial, as he took up his scalpel and began his work.

It was an extremely strange sensation to be awake and being cut open. It didn’t hurt but John could feel it, feel his skin tense and give away as the scalped slid through it. He was glad that Sherlock was staying on this side of the curtain with him. He knew the room was full of people but he would still have felt alone if they were all where he couldn’t really see them. As long as he had Sherlock, all was well. John squeezed Sherlock’s hand and focused on his breathing. 

Dark brows drew down in thought as Sherlock listened to the business of them getting the baby out of John and something important occurred to him, “John I didn’t see a crib or bassinet. Where will he sleep?”

“Eh...um...sock drawer?” It was a joke of course but John really didn’t know where Benjamin would sleep. He had been meaning to get a crib but then he’d put it off and put it off and time had just slipped away from him. 

Sherlock heard Dr. Weisz’s chuckle and Sarah’s murmured ‘idiot’ but he was more focused on what to do about their son’s lack of sleeping arrangements. “Was there a particular crib you were wanting for him that we can task Mycroft with having delivered and set up? He looked as if he might need the distraction.”

“Not really no. There was one at...Babyland I think, dark wood, would fit in the corner of the bedroom...In that little nook you know.” John sucked in a breath as he felt something stretch and rip inside him as the doctors worked to get Benny-Jo out. “Just no antiques that are worth more than the flat and no big monstrosities with lace and shite. Simple and functional please...Have Greg help him.”

He leaned his head in, nuzzling John’s cheek, the sharp breath making his stomach jump. He didn’t like that; John wasn’t supposed to be feeling this. “Alright.” He sent a quick text with his phone to Mycroft.

‘Need a crib. Dark wood seen @ Babyland, simple, functional, take GL to help. - SH’

Outside in the waiting room, Mycroft was most certainly not pacing, he was merely stretching his legs a little. He fished out his phone from a tailored trouser pocket and read the message. “Do you know the way to Babyland?” He turned and looked at his lover. “Apparently we need to go and acquire a crib.” Mycroft showed Greg the text. 

Greg, an old hand at waiting rooms, laughed, “I’ve got three kids, of course I know where Babyland is.” He got to his feet, “Come on then, let’s get the flat finished getting ready for Benny-Jo.”

“Why put up getting a crib until the child is coming? I am very disappointed by John’s foresight.” Mycroft shook his head. “Also why by one when there’s a perfectly good one at Mummy’s? Both Sherlock and I slept in it as did father and his father and so on.”

“And what’s it look like?” Greg gave Mycroft a look, “And how much is an antique like that worth? Keep in mind this is John, likes things simple, no frills, and nothing that’s worth more than he makes in a week.”

Mycroft huffed out an annoyed breath. “It’s brown and big, quite elegant actually. I don’t know how much it’s worth, it’s been in our family for a long time, it was a gift to one of our ancestors from George III, before he went mad of course.”

Greg’s look spoke volumes, “Babyland it is then. Come on you,” he caught Mycroft’s hand, “And since there’s no rush for this you don’t have to claw holes in the door handle this time.”

“Very funny, I tried to find a way to get out; hitting the pavement would be preferable to sitting in that deathtrap with you at the wheel.” Mycroft followed Greg out to the car and got in. “Let’s get in and out of this baby store as quickly as we can, I am not catching any infant germs that will keep me from holding my nephew.”

Greg chuckled and started the car, returning to his almost sedate driving, “Bet you’ll never assume I can’t drive to somewhere faster than your minions again though.”

“No, I doubt I will.” Mycroft agreed. He would probably still prefer to ride with his minions though, at least then he would get where he was going without having a heart attack on the way. “I believe I prefer it when you take your time.”

“Good job you never saw me on the track,” Greg shot him a grin, “Used to race a bit in my misspent youth. Dad made me take a course on stunt driving even, keep me from crashing if something went off.” 

“I know.” Mycroft was completely unembarrassed about admitting to having researched his lover. It had been done long before any sort of romantic attachment between them. Mycroft needed to know what sort of man Sherlock had latched on to. “I’m still glad I wasn’t there when you raced, I probably would have sabotaged the other cars and wrapped you in cotton.”

He snorted, “Oh and how very well that would have worked. You think it’s hard protecting Sherlock when he doesn’t want to be protected?” He slanted a look over at his fiancé, “Sherlock’s got nothing on me when I was young, full of piss and vinegar and insistent on being a reckless twat. Mum gave in after I managed to sneak out a window that was welded shut without waking anyone up.” He chuckled in memory, “I think both she and Dad hit their knees singing hallelujah when I decided I was better off catching the delinquents than being one of them.” He knew that Mycroft had probably found that bit as well, it didn’t bother him, but he liked telling him anyway. If he got bored of repeated information it was his own fault wasn’t it?

Mycroft loved to listen to Gregory talk about his youth or his life. He wanted to know every facet of the other man, know everything that makes him tick. There was only so much you could learn from files and records. Mycroft loved hearing it from Greg’s own lips. He knew that a small part of that piss and vinegar delinquent was still in Greg and Mycroft adored that part, the dangerous part of his lover. Oh he knew Gregory could be dangerous when he wanted to be, when the situation called for it. Mycroft needed that, needed someone who could match him and pull him back to the ground when he got too full of himself. “I had a bit of rebellion too when I was young, needed to try and do everything that I never had been able to before. Mummy was most displeased.”

“What’s this? Mycroft Holmes misbehaved at one point?” Greg’s eyes lit up, “Tell me more. What sort of things did you get up to?”

Mycroft wrinkled his nose and let out a huff of breath in embarrassment. “Oh you know, the usual things young men get up to when they get their first taste of freedom, booze, women, men...women _and_ men. A spot of underground fighting perhaps. It was soon made clear to me that my behavior was not acceptable for someone destined for a minor position in the government.”

Greg’s libido perked up like a hunting dog, “Underground fighting,” He licked his lips, aware that his voice had lowered an octave, “now that’s a surprise.” His Mycroft was a sensualist so threesomes weren’t that surprising, so much more to touch and feel, but he now had a mental image of his lover in an underground fight ring, stripped to the waist and putting other blokes down on the mat and it was sexier than he’d have thought.

Turning his head to the side to watch his lover, Mycroft’s brow rose. “Mmhmm, I had this inane need to prove my worth back then. To prove that because I might look and behave uppercrust, I could still hold my own. I could by the way, wasn’t even that much of a challenge. I think that was what upset Mummy the most, that I didn’t fight to my true potential.”

He found he had to clear his throat before he could reply, “And changing the subject because it is not on to walk into a baby store with an erection, your mother,” he flicked a look over at Mycroft as they waited for a light, “I have yet to meet her. Any particular reason that?”

Mycroft suddenly found the view out the window very fascinating. “Mummy is...a peculiar woman. I didn’t want you running for the hills so I’ve done my best to put off that meeting. I suppose you’ll meet her soon enough though, no way she’s going to agree staying away now that she’ll have a grandson.”

“Mycroft, I’m in love with you, there is nothing your mother could say, do, or threaten that would send me running for the hills. So, arrange a tea with your mother so I can meet her.” Greg turned into the parking lot and found a space close to the doors.

“She’s more scheming than me and has even less social boundaries than Sherlock, just so you’re aware. Other than that and her past as a cold war agent she’s a lovely woman, makes the best tea you’ll ever have the pleasure of tasting.” Mycroft unbuckled the seat belt and got out of the car. “In and out remember, in an out, no time for the infant germs to stick.” 

Greg was grinning, “I think I’m going to like meeting your mother. Come on then, let’s get a crib for her grandson.” He caught Mycroft’s hand and they headed inside.

Mycroft would never, ever admitting to clinging to Gregory’s hand amidst the screaming children and harried looking parents as they navigated their way through the minefield of a store. He just wanted to get the crib and get out.

It really didn’t take long for them to find a nice dark cherry wood crib that satisfied both the function and form requirements, pick up the number slip, and take it to the line to the checkout. The very _long_ line to the checkout. Where one particular toddling carrier monkey with a messy lolly found it great fun to make faces and blow raspberries at him and Mycroft. He suspected it had something to do with the pinch faced sneers the kids mother was giving their joined hands. The imp in Greg couldn’t help but just grin at the kid and say, just a bit loudly, “Oh I hope the line moves quickly, I don’t want to miss the baby’s birth!” 

The woman got a scandalized look on her face but what made it even better was an old woman who was being called up next turned and gave them a bright smile, “Oh goodness you’ve got one coming right now?”

“Yes, ma’am. A bit early and we’ve been having a bit of a disagreement on the crib up til now. Silly,” Greg made a light, self-deprecating laugh.

“Oh you dears, go on ahead of me,” she waved them ahead, “after all this is an emergency.”

“Oh thank you! Thank you very much! You’re a wonderful person.” Greg pulled Mycroft past the toddler’s horrified mother and to the register, very quickly arranging emergency delivery to 221b, where he knew Mycroft would have minions ready to take Mrs. Husdon’s orders on where to put it, paying, and then they were out of the store.

Greg managed to hold in his laughter until they were in the car but then he just let loose, “Did you _see_ the look on that kid’s mum’s face? That was priceless!”

Mycroft had been shocked speechless by his lover’s behavior but now hearing his laughter he couldn’t help but join in. The thing that had shocked Mycroft the most was that he’d realized he wouldn’t mind if it had been true. No matter his distaste for toddlers such as the one in the store he would not mind at all having children with Greg. 

“It served that horrible woman right, bigoted imbeciles as her should not have a right to breed. No wonder stupidity is spreading.” Not being able to stop himself, Mycroft reached over, grabbed Greg and snogged him senseless. “I love you even though you are mad.”

He hummed into Mycroft’s mouth, his hand coming up to curve around the back of Mycroft’s neck as he angled the kiss a little deeper for a moment. Pulling back with one little nip to Mycroft’s bottom lip. “I love you too. Come on love, let’s get back to the waiting room so we can greet Benjamin when he’s ready for visitors.” He bumped Mycroft’s nose with his and started the car. He wouldn’t ruin the moment by tearing through traffic this time though.

**_To be continued…_ **


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Thirteen._ **

Sherlock’s eyes dilated and his head came up when an indignant wail echoed off the room’s walls.

“Well now that’s a good strong set of lungs.” Dr. Weisz handed the baby boy to Sarah and went back to his work.

Sarah clamped the cord after it stopped pulsing, “John do you or Sherlock want to cut the cord?”

“Let Sherlock do it.” John was crying and not caring in the slightest. The moment he heard those thin, angry wails his whole world shifted and reshaped itself around this new little being. Their son was here and from the sound of it he was whole and healthy. It was overwhelming. John wanted to hold him, keep him safe, love him and protect him from everything. He hoped Dr. Weisz would stitch him up quickly.

Sherlock gave John’s hand a squeeze and pressed his lips to his brow before getting up and going over to Sarah, eyes just a bit wary but mostly curious. She smiled and handed him the surgical scissors, holding the little section of cord up and taunt for him. “Go on then Daddy, right between the clamps.”

He looked at the tiny still slightly purple body, still wet, and the cord connecting it and felt a strange knot in his throat as he brought the scissors to the cord and snipped. He wrinkled his nose a bit when it wasn’t an easy cut, he had to bear down and snip away, almost gnawing at the fleshy rope with the scissors until it gave way with an odd pop and then it was done. His son...his _son_ was still wailing to the room about how much he disliked all this cold, wet air and bright lights.

Sarah smiled and let Sherlock watch as she cleaned the baby off and swaddled him carefully, the intent, clever eyes taking in every motion, then she handed the still fussing baby to him, “Take him over to John.

Sherlock’s arms caught his son and brought him carefully close, such a tiny little thing, and let himself be poked back to John’s side and pushed into a chair that had been placed beside the surgical cot, “John...look.”

John turned his head and looked at the pink, wrinkly little creature in Sherlock’s arms arm and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Every tiny little detail was perfect, from the nose, that was most definitely Sherlock’s thank goodness, to the small bow-shaped lips. “Christ look at that...He’s perfect, so gorgeous. He’s going to break hearts this one.” 

He shifted and bit back a gasp when the movement pulled on his stomach. Nothing would keep him from caressing that soft cheek though. John _needed_ to touch his son, to welcome the little thing that had lived inside him for almost nine months. “Absolutely perfect, just like I knew he would be.”

Sherlock angled and shifted so that John could more comfortably touch their child as the baby squawked a bit and turned his head toward that gentle touch, “Incredible,” it was a low, rumbly murmur. He saw John’s chin, likely the entire jaw would come to look like John’s but the rest was almost frighteningly similar to pictures he’d seen of himself as a baby. “He’s so small.”

Tiny and helpless, it almost made Sherlock’s heart beat like a war drum just the thought of someone trying to hurt this little being.

“So tiny and already so powerful, already holds my heart in his tiny little hands, well the parts you don’t already own.” John couldn’t stop looking or touching, familiarizing himself with his son. “Hello Benjamin, welcome. You are so wanted and have been so longed for.” 

“Loved, and very, very well cared for,” Sherlock watched the tiny little mouth scrunch, open and close, then form into what he’d like to call a pout, a little whine coming from the baby. “And destined to be horribly spoiled by all manner of people.” He couldn’t help but smile down at his son.

“Oh yes, so spoiled. Look at that, he even has your pout.” John looked up at Sherlock, eyes still gleaming with tears. “How will I ever survive and be able to hold my ground against the two of you?” Not caring about the others in the room, John stretched, with another wince, so that he could kiss Sherlock on the lips and then place a feather light kiss on Benjamin’s brow.”

“Would you mind just asking Sherlock to bend down when you want to do that John,” Dr. Weisz’s voice was dry, “It does make the stitching a bit more complicated.”

Sherlock’s shoulders shook as he giggled; Benjamin’s little face wrinkling a bit as if skeptical about being jostled before the low timbre soothed him. He bent a little closer so he could give John a second kiss. 

John hummed into the kiss before addressing Dr. Weisz. “Oh come on, I’m a doctor, you should know that doctors always make horrible patients, why would I make things easy for you?”

He could hear Nurse Janice blow out an irritated breath through her nose but that only made him smile wider. John met Sherlock’s eyes for a moment before twisting on his cot again. “So Sarah, what do you think of your godson?”

“What?” Surprise shimmered through Sarah’s voice.

“What do you think of your godson Dr. Sawyer?” Sherlock’s voice held a note of amusement as he watched Sarah’s jaw work under her face mask, mouth obviously working ineffectually. “No one else would do as you outdid my brother rather masterfully, and are one of only two women on this earth who can stand up to him.”

“Oh it is just not _fair_ of you two to try and make me cry when I’m assisting a surgery.” Sarah’s voice was thick and just a tad bit high pitched.

“Oh no need to continue Dr. Sawyer,” Bradley’s voice was amused, “Janice has handing me the instruments and assisting quite well in hand. Though if you could pin John’s shoulders to the table and keep him from moving, please do so.”

Sarah didn’t have to be told twice. She made her way around and gave John a look, “Horrible man,” she kissed his cheek before leaning over him and Sherlock to coo at Benjamin, “And of course I think he’s perfect in every way, how could I think otherwise?”

“I have no idea since he _is_ absolutely perfect.” John grinned at her. “And I’m not horrible, you love me.” He did try to stay still though, hoping it would make the stitching up part go quicker. John was well aware he would be sore and in pain once the sedatives wore off so he took his chance to be giddy now while he could. “I hope you don’t mind being linked to Mycroft through this, we’re going to ask Greg to be godfather and with Greg come Mycroft, they’re sort of a package deal.”

She indulged herself in a grimace, “Ah well I’ll learn to cope. Greg will, of course, say yes. I suppose I can let the hostility go so long as he doesn’t try to boss me around.”

Sherlock chose the better part of valor on that. Mycroft tried to boss and control everyone. It was what he did.

John snorted. “Dream on Sarah, it’s Mycroft Holmes were talking about here. Just kick him if he gets too troublesome. Not too hard though since I value Greg’s friendship.” He was beginning to wonder if perhaps Janice had slipped him some loopy drugs since he didn’t seem able to keep his mouth from saying the most ridiculous things. He ordered Sherlock to lower Benjamin again so that he could nuzzle his son more, melting into a puddle of love when he saw that his son had fallen asleep in his Daddy’s arms. “Maybe you should go and show him off to his uncles while they finish me off here...Janice is starting to look feral.”

Sherlock carefully moved his son to the cradle of one arm so he could trace his fingers over John’s face, “We will be back soon.” He made his way out into the waiting room where Lestrade and Mycroft were sitting. It was almost amusing to see how calm and composed Lestrade was while his brother was positively twitchy. “I presume the crib has been taken care of then.”

Greg’s head came up from the magazine he’d been reading and a bright grin stretched over his lips at the sight of the little bundle in Sherlock’s arms, “Course it has been. They stitching John back together then?”

“Yes.” He quirked a brow at Mycroft, “Well? Do you wish to hold your nephew?”

Mycroft watched the small bundle with wide eyes and gave a hurried nod before Sherlock could change his mind. He was sitting down; he couldn’t drop the baby if he was sitting down right? Mycroft gingerly took his nephew and placed him in the cradle of his arms the way Sherlock showed him to. “He’s quite the handsome fellow isn’t he? You can see he’s a Holmes though I can see John there as well. A rather successful blend.” Mycroft’s voice had softened and gentled without him knowing it and he traced a slender finger over a smooth, chubby cheek. “Have you let Mrs. Hudson know about this happy event?”

“Not just yet. My arms have been a bit full,” Sherlock pulled his phone out and was about to text when Lestrade cleared his throat and leveled a look on him.

“Call her Sherlock. This is news to be spoken not texted,” Greg automatically used the voice he tended to use when speaking to his children; it was one of the very few tones that worked on Sherlock. Then he gave his attention to Mycroft and the adorable thing in his fiancé’s arms. Something absolutely rolled over in his chest seeing Mycroft cradling his nephew so carefully, as if he was afraid he was going to break him. “Handsome lad. He’ll be leading the blokes and birds a merry chase to catch his heart when he’s older.”

“Mm, yes.” Mycroft watched so that Sherlock was busy calling Martha before leaning closer to his lover. “I’m already planning the detail to follow him as a teenager and keep him safe both from threats and overzealous romantic interests. One can never be too careful.” He rocked the sleeping baby in his arms. “He’s so light; it’s a wonder how something so small and light can make such an impact on the world.”

Greg chuckled and brushed his lips over Mycroft’s cheek, “A wonder, yeah that’s a good way of putting it. More amazing is the way such tiny hands wind up holding so many hearts captive,” he smoothed his hand over the dark wisps of fuzz on the little head, careful of the soft spot. 

Sherlock finished his phone call with a happily weeping Mrs. Hudson who’d assured him that the crib had been delivered and assembled. The he used his phone to take a stealthy picture of his brother and Lestrade cooing over their nephew. “Although you’ll be his uncle officially soon Lestrade, John and I would both like it if you were Benjamin’s godfather.” He met the startled DI’s gaze, “He does deserve the best after all.”

Lestrade’s smile turned soft around the edges and he nodded, “It’d be an honor Sherlock.”

Mycroft smiled at his lover. “The best indeed, for once Sherlock you showed off that massive intellect that you claim to have. Excellent choice.” He continued to coo at his nephew, knowing that Sherlock could retaliate physically while Mycroft was holding his son. Besides Sherlock was so much better with words anyway. “He is beautiful little brother, you and John have done very well.”

Sherlock twitched but then he smiled sweetly, making Greg roll his eyes and prepare for the world to end. “John did the work, with help of course from Benjamin’s godmother. Sarah has been an invaluable friend to John during the pregnancy and will be a remarkable godmother. Wouldn’t you agree Lestrade?”

“Oi keep me out of it. Though I’ll admit that only the truly stupid would try to hurt or upset Ben when he’s in Auntie Sarah’s care.”

Long nose twitching, Mycroft managed to hold his tongue, mostly. “No matter my feelings for the lady doctor she is a mother bear when in protective mode. I honestly don’t think you could have chosen a better godmother for Benjamin. And if you didn’t at least do any of the work to bring this wonder into being then I start to worry? Is this the second coming? Should we expect angel choirs descending in song?”

“I said John did the work. I was only there for the conception.”

Lestrade snorted, “In other words you’ve got your head on right. You had the fun part of it and John did all the work...actually that’s about par for the course for the two of you isn’t it?”

Mycroft snickered at that. “That sounds about right doesn’t it Sherlock? Think you might even have to buy milk now at times, the horror of it all.” He leaned down and nuzzled the baby’s soft fuzz of hair. “Yes you will make your daddy work won’t you, daddy will work while you and mummy relax.”

Sherlock took another picture. Noting that Lestrade caught him doing it but only smiled. That was right. The DI understood the value of pictures of one’s child better than anyone. He sent the pictures off in a message to his mother, letting her know that he’d inform her when John was well enough to move around the flat properly. Then he stepped forward to reclaim his son, “You will, of course, get more opportunities to hold him. Right now however, John still has to have that moment.”

“Well I can’t keep you away from your mummy, not matter how much I want to.” Mycroft reluctantly let Benjamin go, his arms suddenly feeling cold and very empty. “Tell John congratulations from us and to take care, we all know his stubborn streak but even he will need rest after surgery.” Mycroft reached for Greg’s hand, twining their fingers together.

“I will.” Sherlock was off down the corridor just in the nick of time as Mycroft’s phone chimed with a message from their mother.

‘Darling you look absolutely adorable with Benjamin. You really should consider having children of your own you know. You’d be a marvelous father. - Love Mummy’

“Oh I will twist that scrawny neck of Sherlock’s...Or have it twisted, I abhor fieldwork.” Mycroft growled and quickly tapped in a reply.

‘Working on it Mummy, Gregory has children, just need to get him custody. Keep your nose out of it. Congratulations on your grandchild. - Mycroft.’

Only with his mother would Mycroft bother typing out his full name.

‘If I’m to stay out of it, I expect to meet your Gregory very soon young man. I’ve only not poked my nose in to meet Sherlock’s miracle because he’s in a delicate state. If you get married before I meet the groom I will be most displeased, especially if I gain more beautiful grandchildren from the deal. - Love Mummy’

Greg watched the look on Mycroft’s face, “Alright what did Sherlock do to get you in a text exchange that makes you pull those sort of faces?”

Mycroft looked up from his phone. “The brat sent Mummy a photo of me holding Benjamin; now her motherly feathers are all fluffed.” He made a face. “We better invite her over for dinner before she shows up anyway...That would not be good for anyone. She would break in without a second thought.”

‘Come for dinner this weekend and meet him then. Behave. - Mycroft.’

‘Oh now where’s the fun in that? I’ll be by this weekend. Do try and catch a picture of Sherlock with darling Benjamin for me. - Love Mummy’

Greg chuckled at Mycroft’s expression and took his free hand to press a kiss to the fingers, “The more I hear about your mother, the more I like her.”

“Reserve your judgement until you’ve actually met her.” Mycroft replied dryly. “She’s coming over this weekend for dinner. We’ll be lucky if we get her to leave before she’s been to see Sherlock and Benjamin...As well as John now that he’s not in a ‘delicate’ state any longer.”

“So we’ll be playing host to your mother for six weeks,” Greg nodded then laughed at Mycroft’s horrified look, “John’s not pregnant anymore but he’s still in, what’d you call it, a ‘delicate’ state. He won’t really be able to move around much as he normally is for six weeks while the incision heals. So post-partum hormones, what is essentially a healing, painful wound, and more bed rest.”

“Six weeks under the same roof as Mummy and insanity as well as dead bodies will follow...Hopefully my dead body if that is the case. Poor John of course but I still pity us more.” Mycroft tapped the fingers of his free hand against his knee, trying to come up with a plan that would make sure Mummy didn’t stay for more than a dinner. 

“It’s moments like this when I wonder how you manage the hypocrisy to call Sherlock dramatic.” Greg chuckled and pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s jaw, “And if you’re lying dead it’ll only be because someone got to me first.”

“Don’t try and soften me up after having called me a hypocrite. Again, wait until you’ve met Mummy. Every ounce of dramatic flair Sherlock and I might have, we have come by it honestly.” Mycroft sniffed but he turned his head so he could press his lips against Greg’s. “Now I need to figure out a way to get Mummy a picture of Sherlock and Benjamin...”

Greg gave him a smile and brought up his own phone, “Now you know I take photographs of Sherlock in his less manic moments whenever possible,” he brought up the images he’d taken from the moment he’d noticed Sherlock, including one of him transferring Ben into Mycroft’s arms. “Which one?”

Mycroft leaned close and looked through the images and settled for one where Sherlock had just come out to the waiting area with Benjamin, the look in his baby brother’s eyes as he watched his son was so unguarded and raw that it was almost painful to look at. “This one, definitely this one.” 

“Want to send it from my phone or have me send you the picture so you can send it from yours? Since you said your mother’s as sneaky as you are I’m half expecting her to already have my number.” Greg handled the knowledge that some unknown woman might have his personal phone number the same way he handled everything to do with a Holmes and his privacy. Easily, like water sliding off a duck’s back.

“Let’s send it from your phone; she has your number, most likely your shoe size and your milk teeth in a jar as well.” Mycroft took Greg’s phone out of his hand and hurriedly sent the image.

‘Here you are, all thanks goes to Gregory as the photographer and owner of the phone. Don’t text him with inane things and for god’s sake don’t call him. - Mycroft.’

Greg read the text and shook his head, just kissing Mycroft instead of commenting. He knew that if her sons got their propensities from her then Mother Holmes would just see that text as a challenge and treat it accordingly.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock stepped into a less crowded and cleaner delivery and recovery room after having been waylaid by Sarah for measurements for Benjamin, smiling to see John propped up and looking six different kinds of impatient. Without a word he went over to him and set the baby into his waiting arms. 

John beamed at Sherlock before all his attention turned to Benjamin. Those perfect bow shaped lips moved slightly as Benjamin sucked on his tongue in his sleep. He was so wonderful, barely there eyebrows and dark lashes shadowing his cheeks. No matter what would happen to John he knew with full certainty that the miracle in his arms would be his greatest accomplishment by far. 

Sherlock maneuvered so that he had one arm arching just over John’s shoulders and he was looking down, completely unaware of the soft, content smile on his face, at his John holding their son. “He’s not opened his eyes yet but I know he is statistically most likely to have the blue shade that most infants possess.” 

John chuckled and leaned against Sherlock even as he continued to admire Benjamin. “I bet he has your eyes, I bet that he’ll skip the baby blues entirely. He’s your son after all.” 

“Ah but he’s your son as well John. There’s even a strong statistical likelihood that he’ll lose all the dark hair and it could come back in as blond.” His other hand covered one of John’s on the blanketed bundle, “It’s a greater likelihood that he’ll have your eyes however as they’re darker. Dark coloration is the more dominant in genetics though it is unpredictable.”

John could do nothing but to continue to chuckle. “Bollocks to statistics and genetics I say. Let Benjamin surprise us with how he’ll turn out, he’ll be gorgeous no matter what and it will be more fun that way.” He knew he would never get Sherlock to stop calculating and deducing and he didn’t want him to stop either, it was who Sherlock was and John loved him for it. He still thought it could be fun with a surprise once in a while.

A little squeak kept Sherlock from answering and he chuckled to see Benjamin squirming and starting to fuss, mouth working and searching for something before letting loose a short cry. He looked around to see if a bottle had been left and spotted the insulated bag set on a clean instrument tray. He left John reluctantly to rummage into the bag, pulling out one bottle, testing the milk’s temperature on his wrist before bringing it back to John. 

Benjamin was pecking at his chest like a little baby bird and John found it adorable. Benjamin was working himself up to quite the hunger rage though so John accepted the bottle from Sherlock and brought it to their son’s mouth, watching him latch on and suck greedily. Benjamin made small satisfied grunts as he ate and John grinned. “Listen we have a little baby pig here, an adorable one of course.”

Sherlock chuckled and mimicked Greg in smoothing his hand over Benjamin’s head, “Precious and perfect in every way.” He remembered being a child and always wondering if he was too odd or a disappointment or any one of a thousand other things to his family and made a private vow that his son would never have to wonder any of that.

“Oh absolutely perfect right down to the tiniest grunt.” John agreed turning his head to nuzzle his nose against Sherlock’s jawline. “We did well here didn’t we? Made perfection. Thank you Sherlock, for gifting me with my wildest dreams, dreams I didn’t even know I had before they came true.”

He leaned his head against John’s, “Yours is the greater gift John.” Nothing would ever convince him otherwise. John had first come to accept and love him exactly as he was, had carried and born their son, and he’d forgiven him, given him another chance. His mother called John his miracle and he was, he truly was.

“We’ll be lucky together with what we have been given then.” John felt fully content having his family around him, safe and happy. The only thing that would have made this moment better would have been if they were at home at Baker Street. 

Sherlock kissed John’s temple, knowing what he was thinking, “Two days, according to what I’ve read forty-eight hours is the average time in a medical facility after a cesarean. Then we’ll be home. Will you be irritated when I carry you up the stairs?”

“I will walk up the bloody stairs on my own two feet and two days is unnecessary, I’m a doctor, I know how to keep a wound clean and taken care of. They cut a baby out of me, not my brain. Please Sherlock; don’t make me spend two days with Janice.” John blinked pleading blue eyes at his lover.

“If you will agree to my carrying you up the stairs I will support you in convincing Dr. Weisz and Sarah to allow you to go home sooner.” Sherlock knew John could care well for himself but he also knew his lover’s stubbornness and knew that if someone did not sit on him, he’d be up and moving too much too soon.

The embarrassment of being carried up seventeen steps to their flat wouldn’t last for very long and it was Sherlock who would be carrying him, not some stranger. “Deal, carry away when we get home just as long as I’m able to actually go home, where there will be just us, you, me and Benjamin.”

“I’ll get Bradley and Sarah then and we can begin work on convincing them.” It certainly wouldn’t be easy work, Bradley knew his methods and Sarah knew John’s. 

“Mmm, I know what you’re thinking but even as a team they have nothing on us Sherlock. We can convince them...I’ll nag and you’ll make brilliant points on why home is the best environment for me at this time.” John grinned.

Sherlock chuckled and dropped a kiss onto John’s lips before heading for the door, “Home is the best environment for you. You’d be too stressed here.” He made one of his brisk exits. He rather wanted to be home himself, surrounded by the familiar walls and where he knew every structure so exactly that he could plan out a defensive strategy in his sleep should it be necessary.

**_To be continued…_ **


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Fourteen._ **

Sherlock set John on the bed as Mrs. Hudson came in just behind them, cooing at Benjamin. Sentinel was sitting, still and watchful, beside the bed, in a stay position. His training showing marvelously.

After having spent months in this bed, John hadn’t thought it would feel so bloody fantastic to be back in it but it did. Being home, it made all the tight knots in his muscles relax. Being home with Sherlock that was what he needed to heal. He held Benjamin and let Sentinel sniff at him, proud that the dog kept his distance and was as gentle as could be. 

“Good boy Sen, this is Benjamin, we are going to look after him and keep him safe aren’t we?” 

The dog’s tail went a half a mile an hour as he gently nuzzled a tiny, tiny hand, whining in what sounded to Sherlock like canine agreement.

Sherlock pat the dog on the head and murmured, “Good boy.” He knew the dog would protect the baby, the tongue lolling grin and guard position Sentinel was already taking up on his dog bed between the crib and his and John’s bed was proof of that. “Do you want anything John?”

“No, I am completely happy and content as I am.” John smiled. “Me and froggy here both.” He looked at Benjamin who had fallen asleep on John’s stomach, legs tucked up underneath him like a frog. “And yes, I am aware I called him a piglet before...I’ll probably go through most of the animal kingdom before I’m done.”

Mrs. Hudson clucked from her position by the crib where she was setting the baby bag and essentials, “And then you’ll start the cycle again dear. The two of you should both settled down and sleep while little Ben is doing the same.” She pat Sentinel on the head and gave Sherlock’s arm a squeeze, “You’ll be desperate for the sleep soon enough loves.”

Sherlock chose to toe off his shoes and slide up into the bed beside John, “She is rather correct.”

“I know, I know she’s right. I suppose I’m still just addicted to holding him. He ran his fingertips over Benny-Jo’s back and diaper clad bum lovingly. “You should put him in the crib though before coming here and get some rest of your own, no sneaking off once I’m asleep.”

“Very well,” He carefully took their son from John and carried him to the crib, settling him onto his back, a smile curving the corners of his mouth as Ben’s legs remained drawn up. He drew a light blanket over the baby, making sure that it couldn’t tangle or distress him in any way, then returned to the bed with John, arranging himself so he was wrapped around him in a way that wouldn’t pull or pain the incision. 

John hummed in contentment and curled into Sherlock’s body, minding the incision. He just needed the closeness. Always, he always wanted to be close to Sherlock. “Love you.” John’s eyes were already drooping; he pushed his nose against Sherlock’s neck and fell asleep that way, breathing in the scent of Sherlock.

Sherlock murmured an, “I love you,” in return and settled, resting without sleeping as he tended toward. Choosing instead to watch over his family for the time being.

 

oOo

 

Greg flipped the chicken cutlets in the fontina sauce and watched with amusement as Mycroft dithered over wine, “Tell you to calm down would be pointless I suppose.”

“Completely pointless so it would be a waste of breath to even try.” Mycroft weighed two bottles in his hands, one white and one red. Usually you had white with chicken but this red one was light and airy and would complement the fontina sauce wonderfully. He just couldn’t decide which one to have. 

“Mmm,” he checked the brussel sprouts then the lemon tarts in the oven, “Well, while you’re thinking it over, use those multi-tasking skills to toss the salad will you please? The dressing is in the bowl beside it.”

“What?...Oh yes of course.” Mycroft walked over to toss the salad and then dress it. It smelled fresh and lovely just as everything Greg had his hand in making. Mycroft wasn’t useless in a kitchen, he could cook if he was forced to but he’d never enjoyed it very much. He’d much rather eat food than prepare it, something Sherlock would never let him forget. 

“Thanks,” Greg peppered the sprouts lightly, “And if you want my, not very expert at all, opinion, I’d go with the red. It should make the dressing as well as the chicken really pop, to use a cliché expression.”

“It’s a better expression than the flavors buggering in your mouth at least.” Mycroft wiped his hands on a pristine tea towel. “I think you are right about the wine though, I was leaning toward the red myself.” He walked over and pressed a kiss to Greg’s cheek before moving to open the wine to let it breathe.

He smiled and chuckled; “Now I have to wonder where you might have heard that from. I’m pretty certain I’ve never said it before.” He checked the tarts again, hummed when they proved to be done, and pulled them out of the oven to cool for a few moments.

“Told you, the perils of a misspent youth. I’ve heard all kinds of things Gregory, most of them aren’t worth repeating though.” He walked over to sniff at the tarts. “These smell absolutely delicious.”

“They’ll taste even better,” he snagged Mycroft’s wrist and pulled him in close for a kiss, “Especially once they cool enough for me to add the clotted cream.” He tilted his head when the doorbell rang, “Bit early is she? Unless that’s not her.”

“Don’t know honestly, Mummy’s style would be to walk straight in but maybe she’s learned tact.” Mycroft looked a bit doubtful at that. “More likely she’d be trying to appear normal for you. I’ll go get the door...Wish me luck.” He walked out of the kitchen through the hallway and opened the door.

“Darling,” dark hair bound up in an elegant chignon despite the curls that she’d passed on to her second son, Violet Holmes stepped forward to air kiss Mycroft’s cheeks and then looked him up and down, “Oh you do look wonderful don’t you? Sherlock mentioned that your Gregory does you good and photographs do miss so much.”

“Mummy,” Mycroft returned the kisses, embracing his mother lightly. “You look lovely as well, I swear you’re just getting younger, you’re early though, I’m afraid we haven’t got everything quite set up yet I’m afraid. Do come in though, I hope your journey was pleasant.” He moved to take his mother’s coat.

“Very pleasant,” she allowed him to take the soft gray Nuria coat from her, “Though the cab drivers do seem to be getting more and more nervous these days. Two almost ran off the road as I passed them in Scarlett.”

“Mmhm, I’m sure it has everything to do with skittish cabbies and nothing at all to do with the way you drive.” Mycroft’s voice was dry as could be. “Tell me Mummy, did you remember what side of the road to drive on this time?” He put her coat away in the closet, absently noticing the Westwood label. It was a gorgeous coat but Mycroft hoped she would choose a different designer when she met with Sherlock and John.

She tutted, “Come now darling it was only that one time, and it was an emergency. It’s not my fault the lorry driver ignored my horn.” She looped her arm through his, “Now where is your Gregory?”

“My Gregory is in the kitchen, why don’t we go meet him?” Mycroft couldn’t help but smile at his whirlwind mother and he offered her his arm. “I really like this one Mummy, love him even so please no surprises.”

She said nothing, made no promises as he escorted her to the kitchen. She would form her own opinion of the man who had her eldest all a-flutter. And he was certainly a handsome man, she noted as soon as they stepped into the kitchen, as well as a cook, the scents and expert way the chicken cutlets were plated told the tale to that. Observant, at least as much as anyone with a normal mind was, as he shifted, a slight tense then relaxation to his shoulders as soon as they made the first step into the kitchen. Of course he would have to be observant being a Detective Inspector. She quirked a brow as he turned, wiping his hands on a tea towel, and offered a smile. “Oh I certainly see his appeal darling,” she released Mycroft’s arm and stepped forward, offering her hand, “Violet Holmes, a pleasure to meet you.”

Greg took her hand brushing a kiss over the knuckles before giving her a charming grin, “Mrs. Holmes, the pleasure is all mine.”

She laughed, “Well aren’t you a charmer. Do pardon my early arrival; I’ve been simply impatient to make your acquaintance. Not to mention driving up left me positively famished.”

“Nothing to pardon. I hope you’ll like the menu.”

“Oh I’m a fan of good food, something I passed on to Mycroft a little too well I used to think.”

Greg shook his head, “Impossible. Mycroft’s perfect as is.” He noticed the gorgeous woman’s eyes sharpen and her gaze sweeping him in a way reminiscent of Sherlock, only with more years behind it. He just gave her a smile and repeated the sentiment, “Absolutely perfect just as he is.”

“I’m plenty of things Greg but I’m not perfect, we both know that.” Mycroft couldn’t stop the warmth from spreading through his whole body at Greg’s words though. He slid his gaze to his mother and hoped she would approve of his lover but for once he found that it really didn’t matter. Nothing would ever make Mycroft give up Greg unless it was what Greg wanted. If by some chance Mummy didn’t like it, well then she could just turn around and leave the way she came, it would be no loss to anyone but her. 

Running his hand along Greg’s arm in a soft gesture, he walked over to pour them each a glass of wine to sip on as they waited for the food to get ready.

Greg’s hand automatically turned to ghost fingers over the inside of Mycroft’s wrist as he passed before he turned to the last steps needed to coat the sprouts in a light butter.

Violet accepted the wine glass from her son and took a sip, a smile playing around the edges of her mouth. She liked the way Mycroft looked at and already acted with Gregory and more, she liked the way Gregory immediately jumped to defend her son as well as return the affection he so rarely displayed. That Mycroft was comfortable, relaxed, with Gregory spoke more than a thousand words. “You’ve known my sons for quite some time haven’t you Gregory?”

He smiled, understanding already. He was a father himself after all. “Known Sherlock for six years now, didn’t officially meet Mycroft until six months into that.” He chuckled and looked over at her, “He shanghaied me, though I think I made it a little frustrating since I never picked up any of the corner phones that rang when I went past them.”

“Ah yes, meeting method twenty two. Why didn’t you pick up?”

“No reason to. Didn’t know who was calling and if they were calling me then it’d have been foolish to pick up since anyone who wants to get in touch with me can through Dispatch if they don’t have my number.” He plated the brussel sprouts, “Just seemed smarter not to pick up.”

Her lips bloomed into a full out, approving smile, “Yes indeed. That particular method relies on the curiosity of the target to get the upper hand.”

“Yes, I did miscalculate there.” Mycroft ran a finger the length of his nose in thought. “I banked on the curiosity of someone who solves riddles for a living, my mistake. I did manage to get him to the warehouse at the harbor though and he didn’t want money to watch over Sherlock or keep him around for sexual favors so it all worked out well, no need for the cleaners.” 

Greg rolled his eyes and wagged a spatula at Mycroft, “Solve riddles yeah but those riddles often involve murders from someone doing something stupid because they were curious enough to poke their nose in where it shouldn’t be,” he was smiling at Mycroft though. “I can even off an example no older than two years. Alex Woodbridge, amateur astronomer, calling on advice about the Vermeer painting, the poor sod.”

“That was one of the schemes that Moriarty character set up that had my baby in a pool with snipers targeting him and his miracle wasn’t it?” Violet sipped at her wine and watched Gregory decorate lemon tarts with clotted cream.

“That would be the one yeah. I still don’t know how they got out of that one.”

“A call from Irene Adler,” Violet studied her wine, “Which does remind me that I need to arrange a meeting with Ms. Adler before she gets...ideas about trying to fiddle with Sherlock’s family life,” she saw Mycroft’s confused expression, “Oh, you didn’t know. Hmm Sherlock is getting better. The ‘executioner’ in Karachi apparently turned on his handlers, took down the entire cell, and aided in Ms. Adler’s escape and falsified death.”

“That little bugger.” It came out as a hiss. Mycroft loathed Irene Adler, he’d been glad when he heard she was dead, there was only one person who disliked her even a smidgen of how he disliked her and that was John. He wondered how the good doctor would react if he found out that Sherlock had lied to him, or stayed silent, about helping her survive. Tricky, tricky. Mycroft would not be the one to tell John though, not now when he and Sherlock were alright again. “Please do arrange that meeting Mummy, if anyone is able to cast a shadow on their happiness it’s her.”

Greg turned and looked at the both of them, an amused quirk to his lips, “I’ve got twenty quid on John already knowing.”

Violet tilted her head, “Oh? May I ask why you think he already knows?”

“Simple,” Greg picked up the plates and took them to the small dining room, “John was already skeptical about Sherlock’s sudden pursuit of him in a romantic fashion considering how Sherlock reacted to ‘The Woman’ then he went from moaning into a pint at the pub with me about it to holding hands at crime scenes so fast I should have gotten whiplash. Sherlock did, or said, something to make him toss the concerns out the window. Probably told him Adler was alive. Maybe gave him the phone to use as target practice,” he shrugged and turned around to get the tarts, “Mycroft carry the salad in please?” 

That right there was why Mycroft loved Greg so much, or at least one of the reasons why. Mycroft as well as Mummy and Sherlock had a tendency to get lost in their own brilliance, in schemes and plans so complicated that they often lost sight of the simplest solution. Greg though, Greg saw it and it made him amazing. He picked up the heavy crystal bowl containing the salad and carried it into the dining room, placing it on the gleaming table. Mycroft had no doubt that Greg was correct, John wouldn’t have started a relationship with Sherlock if he wasn’t sure of his affections and Sherlock would never risk John, that was something he just wouldn’t do. 

He exchanged a look with his mother, pride shining in his eyes in regard to his lover.

She merely lifted her glass in a silent toast, “Excellent reasoning Gregory. So excellent that I don’t believe I will be taking your bet. It would be knowingly foolish.”

He gave Mrs. Holmes a warm smile, “And the day a Holmes is knowingly foolish is the day the sky falls. Let’s eat then.”

“Yes indeed, and you can tell me about a scandalous little acting talent you displayed in a baby store.”

Greg laughed and pulled a chair out for her, “I’d be happy to.”

Mycroft slid into his own seat and smiled as he listened to his lover and his mother talk. He was a lucky man, he really, truly was.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock winced as Benjamin cried louder. It was obvious that their son was exhausted and wanted to sleep but very cranky because he couldn’t seem to. Every time he started to drop off it seemed some loud, jarring noise from the street outside jerked him out of it. He pat the baby’s back and looked at John, sitting in the rocking chair, seeing the stress Ben’s crying brought him as well. There had to be something Sherlock could do, some way of drowning out the unwelcomed noises. His gaze fell on a lamp beside the crib with musical notes on the shade and something clicked in his head. He went over to John, “I’ve an idea, here,” he carefully transferred their son into John’s arms.

John took their son and cradled him close to his chest, setting the rocking chair into motion and making hushing noises into the soft cap of dark down on Benjamin’s head. The tiny body was shivering with the strain of his cries and it made John’s heart ache. He wanted so badly to be able to do something to calm Benjamin down, to allow him to fall asleep. He continued to rock in the chair as he watched what Sherlock was up to.

Sherlock had dashed into the living room and came back with his violin. He snugged it under his chin and began to play a soft melody, ready to stop if it upset Benjamin more but the music had always been able to drown out the world for him so perhaps it would help his son.

At first Benjamin tensed and his face screwed up but then almost like magic everything about him relaxed and he slumped against John’s chest, his head resting against John’s shoulder as he heaved a great shuddering sigh and closed his eyes.

The music Sherlock played was soft, lingering and almost haunting and so very beautiful. John rocked his now relaxed and silent son and watched his wonderful Sherlock play, then he closed his own eyes so he could see the music in his head; he always could when Sherlock was playing.

Sherlock let his fingers press and play out the melody, his eyes watching John and their son as he played the lullaby over and over again until he knew Ben was so soundly asleep nothing would wake him until he needed changing or feeding. It could have been five minutes or five hours, he really didn’t know, what he did know was that, when he laid his bow down and carefully set the violin to the side, John’s eyes were on him and the look in them made something catch in his chest. He went over to sit at John’s feet, leaning his cheek against his knee.

John shifted so he still held Benjamin securely with one arm and could bring the other one down so he could sift his fingers through Sherlock’s hair gently. “How are you Sherlock? I don’t think I’ve really asked you that since you came home. How are you my love?” John’s voice was barely above a whisper, it didn’t have to be, he knew Sherlock could hear him and after the beautiful music Sherlock had played it felt wrong to break that spell with normal, harsh sounding words.

Sherlock’s natural low register was easily kept to soothing levels, “I’m fine now. Happy.” And he was. He was home, with John and now their son. It was comforting, safe. He knew that here he wouldn’t have to worry about ambushes or shoving chairs under dodgy hotel bathroom doors just to be able to sleep for a few minutes in a cold porcelain tub so he would be able to function efficiently.

He found himself tracing John’s ankle, just firmly enough to keep from tickling him, “How are you feeling? The incision?” It had been two weeks since the delivery and though he saw the incision when he helped John care for it, seeing was not capable of gauging how much pain it might be causing.

“I’m just fine, promise.” John’s fingers slipped lower to caress Sherlock’s beautiful neck. “The incision is healing perfectly; it doesn’t hurt anymore unless I bend too far down or stretch my arms over my head to reach for something.” He ran his nails lightly over the nape of Sherlock’s neck before returning to caresses. 

If a human being could purr then that was precisely what Sherlock was doing. “Good, that’s good.” He curled his hand around John’s ankle instead of continuing to caress it, a warm, solid touch. “I think my brother is close to going spare,” his lips twitched and he looked up at John, “Mother and Lestrade apparently get on like a house on fire.”

John chuckled. “Oh dear, that must wreak havoc with Mycroft’s control issues. He must be very much out of his depth with those two teaming up.” He went on with his light touches to Sherlock’s neck.

“Oh he is. Lestrade apparently earned Mother’s approval very quickly, something about simple understanding proving better than brilliance.” His brows furrowed, “But neither Mycroft nor Mother will tell me anything more than that. It leaves very little to deduce.” And that drove him crazy. He hated not knowing something.

“It has something to do with you then, or us. Otherwise at least Mycroft would be falling all over himself in pride over Greg.” John shrugged as best as he could with a baby sleeping on him. To him it didn’t really matter, he was just happy that Greg wouldn’t have any trouble with mother in law. 

“Yes but the question is what. There are several things that Mycroft and Mother wouldn’t be able to deduce about us that Lestrade would just understand.” His curiosity was well and truly engaged though not as strongly as it would have been otherwise. He had faith that Lestrade would warn him if it was something he needed to be concerned about. 

“If you really want to know, I can text Greg and ask him. Simple and to the point.” John’s voice was full of humor, he knew all about Sherlock’s curiosity. “Or we can invite him over and you can deduce what it is all on your own.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over Sherlock’s cheekbone. 

“I think, this time, I would rather you text him,” he leaned into John’s touch. He didn’t want anyone besides Mrs. Hudson or maybe Sarah ‘invading’ the flat just yet. Not even Lestrade.

“Okay.” John toned down on the amusement and surrendered his Sherlock petting to dig his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. Buttons and belts were still a bit uncomfortable around his middle.

‘Why are Mother Holmes and Mycroft singing your praises and them not telling Sherlock? Curiosity...Cat...Spill. - JW’

‘My theory on why you went from crying in your pint to dating Sherlock. - GL’

John’s brow went up as he read Greg’s text. “Ah, it has to do with The Woman then.” He showed Sherlock the text. “Your brother might be the government but he’s also a terrible gossip.”

Sherlock made an annoyed huff, “Mother told Mycroft. I had managed to keep it from him until this point.” It had to have been his mother who’d discovered it. Once Mycroft was satisfied that he’d sussed out the right answer he left it alone. Mother however kept returning to everything and checking it over and over again.

“Now who does that remind me of?” John grinned. “Mycroft did say that it would take Sherlock Holmes to trick him that time...Apparently the woman who gave birth to you knows you better than that.” He tapped out another text on his phone.

‘Ta for that. Got nothing better to do though, than talking about our relationship? Sad days Greg, sad, sad days. - JW’

‘Came up first evening. Vi expressed concern over IA possibly showing up and throwing a wrench in the works. Schemes and concerns were discussed; I mentioned Sherlock would have needed to prove he wanted you and only you before you’d date him. Be relieved I did or you’d have two Holmeses scheming about your relationship. - GL’

Again John showed Sherlock the text. “I am so very happy that I was not present for that conversation.” 

“Dear God yes. As it is Mother is still likely considering paying The Woman a visit for a nice little chat.” Sherlock’s tone was already bored. He honestly did not care if his mother dipped into the rule forties with Irene Adler. She was quite firmly in the ‘would rather delete’ file. The only reason he’d not deleted her existence was that he knew if she was brought up and he asked questions about who she was, it would be not good to John.

“Let her then, I bet on your mother in that battle.” John couldn’t care less either. Irene Adler had long since stopped being a worry in his mind. He had Sherlock and now they had Benjamin and John knew that even if Irene would come back intent on winning Sherlock, he and John had something that she couldn’t possibly touch. 

“It is always wisest to bet on Mother in most situations.” A positively evil thought occurred to him and he smirked.

“Uh oh, what’s that smile about then?” John placed the phone back in his pocket and reached down to trace Sherlock’s lips with a fingertip. “Something wicked is on your mind when that smile comes out to play.”

“I was just thinking we’ll have to introduce Mother to Sarah.” Unholy glee shimmered in his eyes as he thought of how much that would drive his brother round the twist, “They would get on marvelously.”

“Christ they would be unstoppable, I haven’t even met your Mum and I already know that.” An answering grin spread over John’s features. “I hope your mother is out of the business and not recruiting anymore, if she asked then Sarah might actually accept.”

“Never completely out of the business but Mother was never into actively recruiting.” A soft snuffle caught his attention and his eyes went to Benjamin, relaxing when the baby was apparently just snuggling deeper into dreams. 

“I still can’t get over that your mother is bloody Bond, or M perhaps, the one who rules it all.” John’s arm was going quite numb and he knew he would have to put Benjamin down in his crib soon. He still loved holding him though, loved the weight, smell and sound of him.

“More like Papava. Her designation was 004. Mother enjoys the field far too much to ever take the job of M.” Sherlock was smiling softly at their son, watching the little face scrunch and twist in sleep.

“Not exactly helping with my anxiety about meeting her here.” John watched both his men, knowing just how lucky he was to have them in his life. He was a little bit concerned about meeting Mother Holmes though he didn’t want to be. After meeting and getting on with Greg, how could he be anything but a disappointment? 

Sherlock smoothed his hand over John’s thigh, “You shouldn’t worry. Mother will adore you. How could she not?”

“Oh there are plenty of reasons why she shouldn’t but I won’t list them for you since you already know about all of them.” He smoothed his hand over Sherlock’s hair. “Give me a hand up? I need to put him down in the crib.”

Sherlock shifted to his feet and helped John up, standing behind him when he laid Ben down. He slipped his arms around John and rumbled in his ear, “I love you and you love me. That will be enough for Mother.” If it wasn’t then Sherlock would have no problems cutting himself off from his mother.

“I do love you yes and that’s certainly enough for me.” John made sure Benjamin was safe and tucked in before turning around and wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders, leaning in close so he could kiss him. “Gods how I love you.”

Sherlock just returned the kiss, putting his heart into it rather than attempting to reply verbally. He simply was not good at vocalizing emotions. Facts and figures and deductions yes but not emotions. 

John kissed back with everything he had, a purring growl escaping him as he moved his hands and cupped Sherlock’s face as he continued kissing him. 

Sherlock’s own hands were sifting through the short cap of John’s hair. There was just something in the way it was cut close that made it bristle against his fingers before smoothing out that Sherlock found a bit addictive. He broke the kiss, pressing one to John’s brow before things could get heated.

Sighing John took a small step back, still close but not dangerously so. He couldn’t wait for things to get heated but he knew he wasn’t up for it yet...Well he was up for it but his body was not up for the strain quite yet. Still he wanted; when it came to Sherlock he always, always wanted.

Long fingers tangled with John’s, “Sleep?”

“Yes, sleep.” John agreed and pulled Sherlock along with him, stepping over a sleeping Sentinel and walking to the bed. He shed his sweatpants and climbed under the covers in his pants and t-shirt, waiting for Sherlock to get in as well so he could snuggle close to him.

Sherlock slid in beside John, wrapping himself around him as was his wont, his face nestling into the crook of John’s neck.

John tangled his legs together with Sherlock’s and gave a small grunt in contentment as he drifted off to sleep, one ear open to hear if Benjamin stirred.

**_To be continued…_ **


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Fifteen._ **

Time passed a bit too quickly for Sherlock’s comfort and soon he was answering the door to his mother while John was hiding his nervousness in the living room, rocking Benjamin. “Mother, you look well.”

“My baby,” she immediately wrapped him in a hug, “Oh my! Oh you’ve gained weight!” She sounded incredibly excited, looked it as well with a happy gleam in her eye as she pat Sherlock’s ribs, “Still a beanpole but a healthy one, not dried out.”

“You look well as always. Have you been enjoying your visit with Mycroft?”

“You know the answer to that already dear. Gregory is wonderful, good for Mycroft, reasonably clever, and so even tempered.”

“Did you pull on his ears and map out the structure of his head as well?”

She just laughed and bent to greet the dog that approached, “Ah and here’s a handsome fellow as well. I’ve heard wonderful things about you Sentinel,” she scratched the dog’s ears as Sherlock closed the door behind her.

Sentinel allowed her to pet him as he sniffed her hands and even gave them a quick lick. He’d picked up on his human’s nervousness though and was quick to return to sit at John’s feet. 

John looked up from rocking Benjamin at the tall woman who’d just entered. Oh yes, he could definitely see the resemblance to both Sherlock and Mycroft in her features and the way she carried herself. He walked across the floor and held out one hand, the other arm cradling Benjamin. “Mrs. Holmes, it’s very nice to finally being able to meet you.” He fought the urge to stand at attention, nerves always brought out the soldier in him.

She beamed, positively beamed, and rather than shake his hand she moved in to hug him warmly, careful not to squish the baby. “Oh I’ve wanted to meet you for ages now! Please call me Violet, or Mummy if you like.”

“Oh...” John returned the hug a bit awkwardly. “Well, um...Let’s stick with Violet for now and you must call me John, everyone does.” He stepped back and gave her a smile. “And this, this is of course Benjamin.” He angled the baby in his arms so she could see him properly. Benjamin had just slept and been fed so now he was content to be in someone’s arms and regard the world around him with calm blue eyes.

“Oh isn’t he just a darling,” she cooed down at the baby, “Looks so much like Sherlock did, except for the newborn eyes and that chin, that’s absolutely his Papa’s” She ran a finger lightly over said baby’s chin, chuckling when her grandson wrinkled his little nose, “Oh yes you are just about your Daddy all over aren’t you little love?”

Sherlock met John’s eyes, a clear ‘I told you so’ in his pale eyes.

John just gave Sherlock a small private smile but his shoulders did relax. At least she didn’t hate him on sight, seeing that Sherlock was worth so much better than him. “Do you want to hold him?” He transferred Benjamin gently into his grandmother’s arms. “Can I offer you anything? Tea, coffee?”

“Tea would be wonderful thank you John,” her arms automatically took the baby, muscle memory shaping them around him just so. “Actually, Sherlock dear you go make the tea. John do keep me company?” It was framed as a request but it was clear that it wasn’t really as she settled to sit on the couch.

Sherlock just bussed his mother’s cheek, murmuring a soft, “Play nicely Mother.” Before heading into the kitchen.

John watched Sherlock walk into the kitchen before he made his way over to his chair and sat down so that he was facing the couch, polite smile in place. He was a little unsure how to start the conversation or what Mother Holmes...Violet wanted to talk to him about.

Her smile was warm and she gently bounced Benjamin in one arm while reaching out with her other hand and patting John’s knee, “I want to thank you John,” nothing but soft sincerity in her voice.

“I apologize but I’m not quite following you Mrs...Violet.” He furrowed his brow in confusion as he looked at her.

Utter delight crept into the warmth of her smile, “My baby,” her glance toward the kitchen was eloquent, “has always struggled as I’m certain you are aware. He can act well enough for very short periods of time but in the long term Sherlock is utterly incapable of wearing a mask. He simply cannot disguise his incredible mind and it makes most people, most normal people, so uncomfortable they treat him very badly. I was so worried he would never find anyone,” her smile brightened, “But he did. Bradley, as I understand it, told you that I call you Sherlock’s miracle. I do, because you are.”

“If that’s the case then it’s because he’s my miracle in return. Sherlock saved me Violet, he saved me in more ways than one. He gave me a reason to get up in the morning without stopping by the gun in my drawer, then he gave me his friendship and finally I had the greatest gift of all in his love.” John clenched his left hand into a fist before relaxing it again. “What Sherlock does, how his mind work, it’s incredible, I will never stop being amazed by him but more importantly, I will never stop loving him because he is who he is.”

“And that is why I’m thanking you. You say Sherlock saved you? John dear, believe me when I tell you that saving was utterly reciprocal. He’d sobered up but before he met you I was expecting to have to bury him before I turned seventy.” She gave an exasperated look in the direction of the kitchen, “Trust him to fulfill that expectation then defy it at the same time.”

John’s smile turned honest and warm. “He’s Sherlock, what else did you expect? He better not ever pull a stunt like that again though, if he does then I’m afraid my doctor will wear his bollocks for earrings. Pardon the language.”

“Pardoned. Is this doctor the esteemed Sarah Sawyer? Gregory mentioned that she kept Mycroft successfully in the dark about your condition and the particulars for a good month.”

“That would be her yes.” John’s smile became full of amused mischief. “She’s Benjamin’s godmother, she’s very useful to have around to keep your eldest from toeing over the line.”

“So I understand.” Her eyes echoed his mischief, “Do tell me more.” She looked up as her son came in with the tea, “Ah thank you darling.”

Sherlock passed her a cup, then John on before taking Benjamin into his own arms so his mother could drink her tea, “Sarah is the woman who John was kidnapped with during the Black Lotus case.”

“Ah, the Blind Banker I believe John called it on his blog.” She tsked, “Honestly what is the criminal element reducing themselves to? Such an easily rectified mix up.”

“You get what you pay for Violet. If one uses morons to do one’s work for you then one better be prepared to get shafted.” John shrugged. “The thing that baffles me about that case is how they could be stupid enough to mistake me for himself over there.” He nodded at Sherlock.

“Very good question. You’re quite handsome John but goodness you certainly are not a curly haired beanpole.”

Sherlock quirked a brow, “Foreigners who don’t do their research are prone to ridiculous mistakes.”

“That’s true I suppose...I chuck it up to greed though. Such a hurry to get your money’s worth that you don’t stop and think.” John looked up and met Sherlock’s eyes. “That’s the problem isn’t? That people don't think?” 

He felt his cheeks warm a bit and hid it by giving his son closer attention. “Yes, that is what tends to cause problems.”

John smiled at him in an utterly besotted way, he was delighted he could make Sherlock blush. He wasn’t even teasing, just wanted to remind Sherlock that he listened when he spoke, that he heard what he said. 

Violet hid her delighted smile in her teacup. “Forgive me for being horribly nosy but what are the plans for the future for the three of you?”

He didn’t choke on his tea but it was a near thing. John quickly put the cup back on its sauces before an accident happened. “Plans?” John wasn’t aware if they had any plans other than raising their son and staying together no matter what. John wanted Sherlock to go back to taking cases because he knew that made Sherlock happy no matter what he said, he wanted to be with Sherlock on those cases as often as he could and set up a more organized form of his consulting service but no real plans. After Sherlock came back, everything had happened so fast.

“Yes, plans,” she looked amused at the expression on his face, “For example, the cases, will you and Sherlock return to working cases, Benjamin’s education when he’s older, will you be homeschooling, putting him in a state-funded school or a boarding school,” she gave Sherlock a very ‘Mum’ look at the disgusted sound he’d made, “Yes I am aware of your opinion of boarding schools dear,” she turned back to John, “do you intend to remain at Baker Street, and of course a question you don’t have to answer but I’ll be eternally curious about, any thoughts on siblings for Benjamin?”

John gaped, he knew his was and he was doing his best to make his jaw close again. “Um...Well, yes,” He gave Sherlock a look. “we will return to working cases. Benjamin will go to state-funded schools close by until he expresses any wish to do differently. Children can be very cruel and in a boarding school he would be too far away if they started to poke fun as to where he came from. Siblings...I have no clue. I’m not exactly twenty anymore and this body is really not made to carry children. That's something Sherlock and I will have to discuss and decide together.”

Sherlock had an expression of mingled joy, approval, pride, and contemplation on his face as he nuzzled Benjamin’s little cap of black fuzz, “Any other questions Mother?”

“Involving your life, not as yet, however I would appreciate an opinion of what sort of gift to give Mycroft and Gregory to celebrate their nuptials.”

Sherlock blinked once, slowly, tilting his head and readjusting a squirmy Ben, “As far as I am aware, they have all the usual things and the only thing that comes to mind would result in Lestrade being conflicted and possibly disapproving as he believes in being fair and going through appropriate channels when possible.”

“Yes, as much as I would like to gift Greg with his children he would not appreciate any meddling...Perhaps we can talk to his ex though, try to convince her to let them attend the wedding. That would be the greatest gift for Greg and Mycroft as well since he wants Greg to be happy. I have no illusions that she will do it from the goodness of her heart but maybe we could bargain with her...” John drifted off, thinking about what Lestrade’s shrew of an ex-wife could want that they could provide.

Violet’s smile took on a sharp edge, “Oh why bargain? I’m certain she’d listen to reason.”

“In other words, threats.” Sherlock’s tone was dry, “All neatly couched in supremely polite euphemisms designed to chill the blood without offering any sort of possibility of the words being used against the one speaking.”

“Well I am as I am dear.”

“As far as I am concerned you can threaten away to your heart’s content. As long as you don’t hurt the children or really tell Greg. As Sherlock says he wants to go through the proper channels in getting his kids back and he doesn’t need anything that can ruin his chances.” John Reached for his teacup and took a sip.

“I’d never do anything that would jeopardize that, I’m simply going to talk to her.” Violet looked extremely innocent, to the point you almost expected a halo to appear over her head.

Sherlock exchanged a look with John, saying nothing in reply to his mother. As she’d said, she was as she was.

“Well good luck with your little chat then.” John was almost able to keep the dryness out of his voice. “Backup plan we get them a toaster or a waffle iron, something cliché and boring.” He shrugged, after having met Violet he had no doubt the children would be given permission to come to the wedding.

Both Violet and Sherlock chuckled at that and the conversation turned to Violet’s past and travels, what wasn’t classified that was. Sherlock felt John would enjoy hearing about the things his mother had done and seen.

oOo

Sherlock dimmed the lights in the bedroom having just put Benjamin down for the night, and went back out into the living room, where John was curled up on the couch, the baby monitor right next to him. Sherlock settled his long frame in behind John somehow and slipped his arm around shoulders broader than his. “I told you she would like you.”

“Yes you did, I was wrong to doubt your massive brain and I bow down to your intellect in questions regarding your mother.” John grinned a bit sleepily and leaned back against Sherlock’s solid form. “For what it’s worth I like her too, your Mum is quite the character.”

“Indeed. I’m glad you liked her,” Sherlock leaned his cheek on the top of John’s head, “Perhaps I might risk next Christmas dinner at the Holmes estate if you and Lestrade come. You’ve not told Harry yet.”

John sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “I know...I’m struggling with how to tell her. She and Clara tried so hard to get pregnant when they were together, spent so much money on something that just didn’t happen for them. She’s already so bitter with me...I don’t know how to tell her.”

Sherlock’s fingers began playing in soft, soothing strokes over the fabric of John’s chest, “I would suggest having me tell her but that might be unwise,” Harry hated him, almost as much as Anderson did, and Sherlock, being who he was, responded accordingly. “Perhaps Sarah might have some advice.”

“Mmm, perhaps.” John sort of doubted that but it couldn’t hurt to ask, he was certainly stuck on what to do. He couldn’t help but wonder how things had gone so terribly wrong with him and Harry. They had never been very close but now they were worse than strangers and John had no idea how to fix it.

“You’re the only one working at it,” Sherlock knew where John’s mind had gone, “Harry is still too deep in her addiction to work with you to fix what’s broken.” He held John tighter, knowing that Harry’s alcoholism hurt his lover. “One day that will change.”

“Yeah I suppose it will, she’ll either realize her problem or die from it.” It was cruel and harsh but it was the truth. John had tried to help Harry every way that he could but it was hard to help someone who didn’t want it. “Maybe we should just bring Benjamin and visit her, no matter how she feels about us, I can’t see her doing anything but love him.”

Sherlock hummed, “So long as we call ahead.” He slipped one hand up to measure John’s pulse, for no reason other than to touch him. “I like the plans you have that Mother put you on the spot with.”

“You do? I’m glad, of course I don’t want to decide them all on my own but I want to work cases with you again. I want to stay here at Baker Street, we have an extra room for Benjamin when he grows older. And of course I want him close...Education may be better in a boarding school but I don’t think it’s worth the cost of having him so far away.” John paused. “And what do you think of the sibling question?”

“I think that it’s not something necessary to dwell on before our son is at least two. I think that it is your body and therefore your decision as to what goes on inside it, that you have a choice about. I also think that there are more ways than one to get him a sibling should we decide we’re ever ready for a second child.” He brushed his lips against John’s ear, “I had thought, before, that when we were ready, perhaps after Lestrade wound up Superintendent as the majority of cases would then become swiftly dull, that we might consider adopting a child. It had been a vague consideration to bring up to you for discussion at some point in the far future.”

John turned his head to nuzzle against any area of Sherlock he could reach. “I love Benjamin and I love the fact that I was able to carry him to term and that all went well...I’m must admit that I’m bloody terrified of the thought of doing it all again though. That might be because it’s still such a short time since it happened but I like the idea of adopting. We would love that child just as much. As you say we can see when we are ready.” John was so aware of everything that could go wrong with him carrying a child. It was just luck that made it all go well this time around.

Sherlock nodded. In the back of his mind he was sifting through the dozens of scenarios that could have happened, ways it could have gone wrong, and he could very happily admit that he never wanted John to risk that again. “As to schooling, the education a boarding school provides is never worth the cost,” he swallowed, “Holmes children have been sent to boarding schools...since they came into existence and I would let Anderson into my lab before I let Benjamin go to one of them.” He’d gone to a boarding school and had loathed it more than he could properly express.

“Gods, don’t ever let Anderson into your lab, his stupidity would contaminate everything. And all Holmes children might have gone to boarding school but this Watson Holmes or Holmes Watson child will not. I didn’t go and I made it out alright anyway. Besides, I want him close. I can be selfish enough to admit that.” John reached down to stroke his hand over Sherlock’s thigh in a soothing motion.

He nuzzled John’s temple, “You made it out perfectly, Doctor. And if wanting him close is selfish then that is expected of me isn’t it?’ 

“Stop that, you’re the least selfish person I know. You may huff and puff and pretend but you don’t fool me.” John’s hand gripped Sherlock’s thigh. “You have such a large and giving heart, protecting it against hurt does not make you selfish in the least.”

Sherlock snorted, “John you are entirely too biased and apparently forgetting about the tea, the mobile, shooting the wall. I am selfish, very, very selfish. I care about a very limited number of people and the rest are merely bodies and possible forms of entertainment, some dead, some not dead yet.”

John hummed. “Fine you’re a selfish berk, luckily I love you anyway.” He still believed that Sherlock wasn’t nearly as selfish as he made himself out to be but he wasn’t going to have a discussion about it. The tea and the phone...well that was just as must his own fault because he let Sherlock get away with it. The wall shooting, that had been childish and stupid but selfish...John wasn’t sure.

“Very lucky, and not fool enough to think otherwise.” He wrapped himself closer around John, “When do you want to start working on cases again?”

“When you’re ready, I’m ready.” John smiled, loving being close to Sherlock like this. “I’m not quite up to running across the London streets quite yet but I’m getting there.” John had begun to train to build up lost muscle tone again. “We can start small perhaps? I don’t want to spend too much time away from Benjamin right now, not yet.”

“Less than seven cases until we can bear to leave him with Mrs. Hudson then.”

“Sounds like a plan, though you still have to get dressed, no sheets...Too distracting.” John twisted in Sherlock’s embrace so he could touch him better.

A smile pulled at Sherlock’s mouth; “Well if I must...” he nuzzled John’s cheek.

“I’m afraid I have to insist? People are usually put off by a consulting detective’s assistant walking around with a boner, something about common decency I suppose.” John grinned and caught Sherlock’s mouth with his own.

Sherlock made a soft sound of welcome, more than happily fitting his mouth to John’s and following his lead. Every kiss was precious, something he’d been quietly terrified he’d never have again more times than he liked to contemplate.

Sherlock could cut anyone to pieces with the sharpness of his tongue but in John’s mind, Sherlock’s mouth was made for kisses. He’d been entranced by that mouth since the very first meeting and the simple act of pressing his lips against Sherlock’s was amazing every single time. Cupping the back of Sherlock’s neck, John slowly deepened the kiss.

He parted his lips eagerly, his hand trailing over John’s shoulders, mapping out the cloth covered muscle. His mind of course measuring how much tone had been lost during the pregnancy and how long it would likely take to regain it. That was in a far back corner though, the rest of him was sunk quite firmly in sensation, enjoying the slide of John’s tongue into his mouth, the soldier’s form against his own. 

Making some sort of grumbling noise, John speared his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and pulled slightly on the dark curls as he tasted Sherlock’s mouth. He bit down on Sherlock’s bottom lip and soothed the tiny sting of the bite with the tip of his tongue. 

The bite and pull brought a moan out of Sherlock’s throat. He really had a deep love of when John got aggressive, giving him the same punch of thrill a case usually garnered him. He snuck his fingers under the hem of John’s shirt, to touch and tease the skin of his back and sides. His fingertips found old scars, playing over them, around them, and in essence worshipping them. He loved John’s scars, loved the proof of what John had survived to meet him. In time, once he was fully healed there would be another scar for him to worship, the scar of the cesarean, proof of what John’s body had endured to bring their son into the world. That was something sacred to him.

Letting out a low, ragged moan, John moved until he was straddling Sherlock’s slim hips. His fingers was still tangled in dark hair but he pulled his mouth away from Sherlock’s to run his bottom teeth over Sherlock’s jawline before closing his mouth over Sherlock’s pulse point and sucking a vivid purple bruise there. 

“God, John,” it was a husky whisper. He tilted his head to grant John better access, almost purring as the invitation was seized upon. His fingers curled and he drew his nails very lightly against John’s skin before slipping his hands down to cup John’s arse over his trousers.

Moaning again, John pressed against Sherlock, wanting to be closer still. He had just started to work on the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt when a sharp cry pierced the air, cooling his libido as effectively as a dip in ice water. He licked his lips and looked at Sherlock with wide eyes before sighing and inching off Sherlock’s lap to go tend to their very awake and very angry son.

Sherlock dropped his head with a breathless, half-frustrated laugh, adjusted himself in his trousers, then got up to join his family in the bedroom. “Feeding or in need of changing?”

“Both,” John lifted Benjamin out of the crib to carry him to the changing table. “Seems he’s made some room for the food he wants.” He quickly stripped the baby of the one piece jammies and changed and cleaned him with a steady hand.

“I’ll go warm a bottle then,” despite his rapidly waning erection, he was smiling. As far as he was concerned, this family was worth an interrupted petting session on the sofa.

**_To be continued…_ **


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun._

**Tell Me This Night Is Over.**

**_Chapter Sixteen._ **

Dimmock kneeled next to the victim. She had probably been a very attractive woman once but there was a lot of wear and tear on her, not to mention the blue tint to her face from having been strangled. 

He was handed the woman’s purse by one of the sergeants on the scene and looking through it he cursed out loud when he got to the drivers license. Fuck! This was so bad and it wasn’t something he could call about, this news had to be delivered in person. Again fuck, fuck, fuck and fuck him sideways as well.

“Inspector?” The sergeant frowned, “Is there a problem?”

“Yes, I believe you can say that.” Dimmock pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “This woman is Cynthia Lestrade.” He knew the last name would be recognized. “Send someone over to her house, make sure someone is there watching the children. I have to go and give DI Lestrade the news.” Something he was not looking forward to in the slightest.

The sergeant snapped to attention and nodded, “Yes, sir,” before heading directly to a constable to send to Cynthia Lestrade’s home. No one on the force liked her because most of them liked Greg and they all knew how much he loved those kids. If something had happened to them, even God wouldn’t be able to help the person responsible.

 

oOo

 

Greg was enjoying his night off. Listening to Mycroft working on a few non-classified projects when the door to his office was open while he took a little time to mend some of the tears in his clothes with the game on muted telly was just this side of perfect. So when the doorbell rang he got up to answer it with a smile. “Dan, hey. What b-” the smile dropped off his face as soon as he got a full look at Dimmock’s. He knew that look, wore it more often than he did a smile, someone was dead, “Who?”

Daniel wasn’t going to insult Greg by throwing the same old platitudes they both used in the line of duty when it came to deliver this kind of news at him. “I’m sorry Greg, Cynthia was found dead earlier this evening.” 

Greg’s hand tightened on the door handle and he went ghost white, “The kids?”

“I sent constable MacAllister over to the house; the children are alright, in bed sleeping and the next door neighbor watching them. A Mrs. Dunlap.” Dimmock had made sure to check that the children were safe and well. “Cynthia was not found at home, she was found in an alley almost down by the docks. She’d been strangled Greg.”

“Fuck. Do you need me at the morgue for an ID confirmation?” Greg felt weak in the knees knowing that his kids were okay and being looked after by the go-to baby sitter of the neighborhood. He tried to find some sort of grief for his ex but really there was nothing there. The only thing he felt was the same as he did for all victims, just sadness at a waste of human life.

Dan shook his head. “No, we’ve contacted her sister to ID her; I just wanted to tell you in person.”

Mycroft had crept up behind Greg silently and now he placed a hand on Greg’s shoulder in support. “Any suspects?”

“A few but I can’t speak about that, not even to you Mr. Holmes.” Dan stood up a little bit straighter. 

Mycroft hummed a little under his breath. “What about the children? Can Gregory be with them tomorrow? Bring them here? They are going to need their father.”

“I’ll do my best to wake up a judge and find out.” Dimmock bit back a sigh. “You’ll know when I do.”

Greg nodded, and seeing Dimmock shift uncomfortably, made it easier on him, “Tell me the ToD and I’ll tell you where I was Dan. I know the drill.” He’d be a suspect until an alibi was confirmed.

Dan made a face but he still looked relieved. “Time of death has been established to eight to eight-thirty pm. She hadn’t been dead long when she was found.”

Greg nodded, “I was here, with Mycroft. Sherlock and John came over with Ben for a goodbye dinner to Violet Holmes, Mycroft and Sherlock’s mother. They left about,” he checked the time, nine fifteen, “ten minutes ago.”

“I can assure that Greg was where he says he was as can my family.” Mycroft knew it was procedure but he still didn’t like Greg being questioned. Really if he’d wanted to get rid of his ex-wife there were much more efficient and stealthy ways to go about it than strangulation. 

“Thank you, both of you. I’ll need to speak to Sherlock, John and Mrs. Holmes just to verify but you are not considered a suspect at this time. Mols...I mean Dr. Hooper should have more information for me tomorrow.” Dan closed his notebook after having written Greg’s alibi statement down.

Greg nodded, “Careful out there Dan, I’d hate to have to deck you on behalf of Molly if you would up in hospital due to doing something stupid.” He’d caught the slip and being a cop made the connection.

“You know me, I’m always careful, almost to a fault.” Dan gave his fellow DI a small smile. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything.” He nodded to both of the men opposite him, his working day far from over. 

Greg gave him a small salute back then closed the door when he turned to leave. He closed his eyes and leaned back against Mycroft, “Shit.”

Mycroft wrapped his arms firmly around Greg from behind, holding him close. “I’m sorry Greg, I’m so sorry. No matter what or who else she was, she was the mother of your children and I’m sorry.”

“I’m not...the grief I probably should feel isn’t there. She effectively destroyed anything I felt for her when she took the kids away, really I feel the same as I do when I stand over a body of a complete stranger. It’s just...how am I going to tell the kids?” That was what was making his stomach twist and churn. How was he supposed to tell his children their mother was dead, “Joe’s old enough to understand, Rick...probably, I don’t know, but Holly...she’s still a baby, not even two yet.”

“We’ll tell them it was an accident, they’ll cry. Holly probably won’t understand but she’ll have you there to guide her through a very confusing and hurtful time. With you there your children will be okay.” He didn’t say it out loud but in Mycroft’s opinion they would be much better off living with Greg than with an unstable and gambling addicted mother. “Gods I don’t know anything about children but I do know what a wonderful father you are and that’s how I know we’ll get through this and that your children will be fine.”

He turned in Mycroft’s arms, his own arms going around his waist as he leaned hard. He was going to need Mycroft through this, was going to need all the support he could offer. “I love you.”

Mycroft held on just a little tighter at those words. “I love you too, things will be okay, we’ll get through them together.” He knew it was going to be a rough road ahead. The children would have to face the trauma of losing their mother, moving to a new home and all of that. He had no clue how they would react to him and instead of planning their wedding they now would have to plan a funeral.

“God I hope you’re right. I think I’m terrified that the kids might hate me for not being around the last several months or that Holly won’t really remember me.” And God only knew what Cynthia might have been telling them about him.

“When have I been less than right?” Mycroft did his best to sound much more certain than he was. “Of course they won’t hate you; they are too young for hatred. I bet they’ve missed you just as much as you’ve missed them and I know Holly remembers her Daddy. You’ll see when you get them back tomorrow.”

Greg ignored what he knew about court process since he knew exactly how fast things happened when Mycroft got involved. “If Mallory’s the one handing them over though, you might want to hide in your office.”

“Oh?” One brow went up. “Why is that? I’m not in the habit of hiding unless it’s from Mummy or Sherlock when he’s at his most annoying...Or perhaps Dr Sawyer if she’s on the warpath.” Mycroft was pleased that Greg didn’t seem opposed to some of his meddling now. It couldn’t be a bad thing to get the children here as quickly as possible could it? They shouldn’t end up with Cynthia’s sister who was just as bad as she had been or even worse have to spend time in the care of the social service, that would only increase their trauma.

“Well if you really want my ex’s man-eater sister trying to shove her implants in your face and trying to plaster herself on you,” he lifted his head from where he’d leaned it against Mycroft’s shoulder, and cocked a meaningful brow.

“Dear God that’s the scariest thing I’ve heard or envisioned in a very long time. Hiding it is then, oh yes, definitely hiding.” Mycroft actually shuddered. “Isn’t Mallory married though or is she between husbands at the moment?”

“Still married, husband apparently doesn’t care. So long as she looks good on his arm and lets him boff his secretary when she’s busy boffing the pool boy. Match made in heaven that.” He brushed his lips over Mycroft’s chin comfortingly, “Thank God she’s elected never to breed.”

“I can do nothing except wholeheartedly agree with that.” Mycroft ran his hands up and down Greg’s back, knowing that his love was more shook up than he let on. “Sherlock has his...quirks but I do believe that you have traded up in the in-law department.”

“I freely admit that. Holly’ll be outnumbered, poor girl.” He chuckled.

“Oh I don’t know about that. I rather think that _poor_ girl will grow up to have all the men around her wrapped firmly around her little fingers.” Having been surrounded by strong women all his life with his mother and then Anthea he knew just what they were capable of. “Never underestimate a member of the female species.”

“Never do. I say poor girl mostly because her chances of getting and keeping a date before she’s thirty are very, very low.” He smiled up at his fiancé, “Just look at all the people a prospective date will have to get through, me, you, Sherlock, John, her brothers, your mother, Anthea...that prospective date, whether male or female, will need balls of solid steel.”

“That is the solid truth yes.” Mycroft smiled back and leaned his forehead against Greg’s. “Poor dates though by the time one of them actually has made it through all of us he or she will have proven their worth.” Mycroft had no intention of making it easy on any of them and not only in regards to Holly, anyone interested in Greg’s children would have to go through the British government first.

Greg closed his eyes, nuzzling Mycroft’s nose affectionately, “Works for me.” He kissed his fiancé lightly, “I’d best call John, let him know they’ll be getting a visit from Dimmock, Dan prefers to verify alibis in person. Part of why he’s a DI so young.”

“Yes, go ahead and do that.” Mycroft nodded and released Greg reluctantly. “I’ll just be in the office.” He had some meddling and smoothing the way to do to make sure that the children would be here where they belonged come morning.

He lifted his hand to Mycroft’s cheek, “Just come join me in the living room when you’re done baby. I’ll even put on a Hitchcock movie for you.”

“I’ll be there.” Mycroft moved away to get things done so that he could settle with Greg and watch Hitchcock, it was a few of the movies he could actually stand to sit through.

Greg headed into the living room, dialing John’s mobile while he started to set up a DVD of Notorious. He listened to the ringing and hoped he wasn’t waking up the baby.

“Hello Greg, has something happened?” John’s voice was low, more out of habit than of any real risk to wake Benjamin up. Once he was out he could sleep through almost anything. 

“Oh yeah,” Greg flopped onto the sofa, sighing out a long breath, “You and Sherlock are going to be getting a visit from Dimmock in a little bit, nothing to worry about, he’s just confirming an alibi.” He leaned his head back feeling a bit drained already.

“Shit...Christ.” John grew completely serious, if there was a need to confirm an alibi then something very serious had happened. “What’s wrong Greg? What’s happened?” He crossed the room to stand ready by the door, no need to get Mrs. Hudson up after one of her evening soothers if the doorbell should ring.

He began fiddling with his sewing needle, “Cynthia was found dead, murdered. Verifying alibis for her known associates or former lovers is procedure.”

“Fuck, I don’t really know what to say to that. Are you okay? The kids?” John couldn’t pretend to care about Cynthia’s fate but he did care about Greg, the kids meant the world to him. “You know what, stupid question, how can you be okay and I’m sure Mycroft is all over the children situation. My bad. Just let us know if you need anything alright?”

“I’m alright John. I’m worried about my kids and how to help them through this but I’m okay. I will let you know if I need anything though, you’ve got my word. Sherlock already giving you the deduction stare?”

“Yup.” John looked over at his lover who was indeed giving him the deduction stare. “Call if you need us.” John said his goodbyes and ended the call. “So, any ideas?” He kept one eye on Sherlock and one on the door.

“Something happened to Lestrade’s ex wife. You wouldn’t have asked about the children otherwise and someone is coming to talk to us, not Lestrade. She’s dead or dying at someone else’s hands.” 

John grinned despite the seriousness of the situation, he couldn’t help it, Sherlock was just amazing. “Dead, murdered. Dimmock’s on his way over to confirm Greg’s alibi, that we were in fact there for dinner I’m guessing.”

Sherlock nodded, mind already cataloguing ways and reasons Cynthia Lestrade would have been murdered. “Mycroft will have Lestrade’s children returned to him by morning.” He knew how his brother worked and in this case his brother would be working even faster than usual.

“Yeah, I have no doubts about that, if Greg’s lifted his no meddling clause then I can picture Mycroft hard at work, when the children do arrive there will be no way that they ever leave again.” For once John was happy that Mycroft was the powerful, scheming bastard that he was. 

“Not until Uni certainly.” Sherlock leaned casually against the wall as the door was knocked on. He’d be measuring Dimmock and listening for clues as to how Lestrade’s ex was murdered. He truthfully wouldn’t have put it past his mother to have arranged something.

John opened the door to let Dimmock in.

“I’m sorry to be bothering you at this hour.” Dan nodded toward both John and Sherlock. It still gave him a little jolt, seeing Sherlock alive and well after all that had happened but he was glad the detective was alive. “I suppose you already know what I am here for; I just need to hear it in your own words, where you were this evening between oh, seven-thirty to nine pm.”

Sherlock didn’t stir aside from speaking, “We were at my brother’s home having dinner, baked parsnips and pork in wine sauce if you’re interested, Lestrade cooked. It was a farewell dinner for my mother.”

Dan wrote it down in his little notebook, no longer getting his feathers ruffled by the way Sherlock was. 

John nodded, “It’s true, we arrived there shortly after six and left around nine. It was getting late and it was time to take Benjamin home. Greg’s an excellent cook and the dinner was delicious.”

“Thank you, the both of you for your statements.” Dan said and put his notebook away once again.

Sherlock just hummed vaguely, “Anything particularly interesting about her death?”

“Not really, the alley where she was found is right by one of the illegal gambling clubs in town and she was dressed for a night on the town.” Dan didn’t want to say too much, not because he wanted to keep Sherlock out of the case but because he didn’t have all the information himself and making assumptions was the worst thing a police officer could do in his opinion.

Not arranged by his mother then. Violet Holmes wouldn’t have had her dumped in an alley, more likely she’d have been found _in_ the club had it been at his mother’s order. He’d place his money on a debtor trying to collect on what was owed him. “Hm, try judge Mayhew in regard to Lestrade’s children. He suffers from insomnia so he’ll already be awake.” He turned and went back inside the flat to work pick up his notes on his latest experiment.

John rolled his eyes but gave Dimmock a smile; he knew that the DI would work hard to get to the bottom of the case as quickly as possible. “Good luck with everything DI Dimmock, you know where to find us should you need anything else.” 

Dan nodded. “That I do, have a nice evening.” He turned to leave.

“Oh, give our best to Molly.” John called after him.

Dan just waved and walked down the steps. He wished he could go home to Molly now but he had a long night ahead of him.

 

oOo

 

Greg hadn’t slept. He’d tried, wrapped up with Mycroft and comfortable, he’d just laid awake, mind spinning and worrying over the kids and how to explain that Cynthia was dead to them. He was aware of his fiancé’s concerned gaze on him as he set a morning tea in front of him, and he just leaned in and brushed his lips over Mycroft’s. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yes you will be.” Mycroft said and pressed his lips against Greg’s lightly before pulling away. He was worried, he was worried about Greg about the children and about how their lives would change now, with three small children that had never met him before and that had just lost the mother coming to live with them. So much could go wrong but Mycroft had to believe it would be fine. 

He had just taken a sip of his tea when their doorbell rang. Apparently Dimmock and Mycroft’s people had worked quickly.

Lestrade squeezed Mycroft’s arm then went to answer the door, “Mallory,” the woman was in complete man-eater form, tight red shirt, black skirt, ankle breaker heels, fully made up and fluffed, and she looked like hell. He knew there wasn’t much love lost between Cynthia and Mallory but a sister was still a sister. “I’m sorry.”

The bottle blond shook her head, “Don’t Greg. Really I’ve heard it already, from more than enough people. Nothing to be sorry about.” She turned and gestured a come hither at the sedan she’d arrived in, “I pity you more than I do myself.” That said she turned and walked back as the door to the car opened and the woman who’d come with the sedan stepped out, holding Holly in one arm while the other hand was helping the boys out of the car.

Greg’s hands shook and his heart tore into two ragged pieces at the sight of his children’s puffy eyes and he nearly cursed Mallory out. It was obvious she’d already told them. Then Holly spotted him and immediately began reaching out and leaning in his direction.

“Dada! Dada! Dada!”

He was moving before he was aware of it, taking Holly from Anthea into his arms and feeling two other little bodies bang into his legs before he was on his knees, holding all three of his children and murmuring loving, comforting words over and over again.

Anthea watched the touching moment and it made her heart ache a little. Especially when Mallory just got into the car without a second look at the children. “Their things are coming, there will be a car arriving with them later on.” Right now they only had small backpacks with them that contained their favorite things. Books, plushies, safety blankets and such.

“Mally said that Mummy is dead and never coming back. Just like Ginny the Guinea pig.” Joey clinged to his daddy. “Will we have to bury Mummy in a shoebox in the yard as well?” 

Greg bit the inside of his cheek. It was horrible, absolutely horrible, but God he wanted to laugh at that question. Just the thought of Cynthia stuffed in one of her Manolo shoeboxes and buried in the yard was so morbidly amusing. He was a sick bastard for wanting the laugh. He managed not to and stood up, all three children still in his arms, to carry them inside. “No, we won’t be burying Mummy in a shoebox.” He didn’t know whether to be glad or not that his ex had been adamant on cremation.

Anthea said her goodbyes as a black jaguar rolled up to the curb, her phone was already back in her hands and she had sent a text off to her boss. She took the time to tell all children goodbye before she went to the car. Since her boss would be absent today she would be needed at the office. 

Joey wasn’t satisfied with his Daddy’s answer though. “Where will Mummy go then? Peter’s family had their kitty stuffed, we won’t stuff Mummy right?” His voice wibbled a bit, he didn’t like the thought of Mummy being still and quiet, there but not _there_.

“No, God no,” that was a truly horrifying thought. He managed to get to the living room and settled on the sofa with the kids. “No. Do you remember what Sherlock told you about Viking funerals?” He felt Rick nod and then felt a frisson of worry when he didn’t say anything. Rick was always the first one to volunteer information, no matter how upset he was, always.

“Okay, so we will be burning her then.” Joey nodded to himself, considering that particular matter settled then. He was plastered against Daddy’s side and reached behind Daddy’s back so he could hold Rick’s hand. Joey was still trying to understand what this all meant. The thought that Mummy was never coming back was hard to wrap his head around and then he felt guilty as well. He was happy to see Daddy again, to be with him. He was happy when he should be sad.

“Sort of, a special person at the funeral house will do that and then we’ll spread her ashes over her favorite spot.” He kissed the top of Joey’s head. He felt Holly squirm then sniffled and immediately began rocking her. “It’ll be okay sweetie.” Joey was plastered to his side, Holly in his left arm, and Rick’s arms were tight around his neck, his face hidden. “Rick?”

Joey pat one of Rick’s hands that were clenched tightly around their Daddy’s neck. “Ricky doesn’t speak Daddy. He hasn’t since you couldn’t be with us anymore. He can sign though.” 

Mycroft was listening from behind the doorway; he wanted to give Greg and the children some time to themselves before he added to the confusion they must feel. If Cynthia hadn’t been dead, Mycroft had been very tempted to find her and kill her himself. How could she let such a problem develop with her youngest son and not tell Greg about it, not even try to fix it when it was obvious that solution was to allow the children to spend time with Greg.

More of Greg’s heart just tore into bits and he held his children tighter. It should feel wrong to hate a dead woman but _God_ he hated his ex wife right now. How could she let that happen? Had she really hated him so much that she’d let Rick, little chatterbox Rick, draw in so much he stopped talking? How could anyone do that? He ran a hand over Rick’s hair, “You’re going to have to teach me then. I hope you don’t mind if I’m a little slow.” 

That was apparently exactly what was needed because Rick pulled back enough for his hands to flip through a few signs that ended on one Greg did know. _”I love you.”_

He kissed Rick’s forehead, “I love you too monkey.”

Rick signed again, pointing at the door at the end of it.

“He’s wondering who’s hiding behind the door.” Joey translated, his voice taking on a slightly suspicious tone. He hadn’t known anyone was behind the door but he didn’t doubt his baby brother’s instincts, he was never wrong about these things.

Letting out a small sigh, Mycroft left his little hiding spot and stepped into sight, he didn’t want to be seen as a creeper and he had to meet them sooner or later.

Greg’s lips twitched, “Sherlock would be very proud of you Rick,” the light his youngest son’s face took on at that made Greg’s heart warm up. “This is Mycroft.”

“Hello.” Mycroft was trying very hard to leave his natural detachment and stiffness behind as he walked across the floor and sat down in one of the armchairs. “I’m very pleased to meet you; your father always speaks about you and how much he loves you.” 

Rick tilted his head then pointed between Mycroft and his Daddy touching the corner of his mouth then his cheek.

Joey wrinkled his little nose at that, a faint blush covering his cheeks but he got ready to translate when he was interrupted.

“Yes, your Daddy and I are kissing sweethearts.” Mycroft was signing as he spoke, he knew there was absolutely nothing wrong with Rick’s hearing but it was the polite thing to do.

Rick’s eyes went wide, then delighted. Mummy had never tried to learn to read the signs because Joey had been there to translate. He noticed the rings on his Daddy’s and Mycroft’s hands and went into a flurry of signing about them.

Greg might not be able to read signing, yet, but he definitely got the gist of it. “I asked Mycroft to marry me a few months ago. He said yes but we’re not married just yet, still planning the ceremony out. Did I miss any nuances there monkey?”

“I think you caught the gist of it.” Mycroft smiled, still signing even as he spoke. Both he and Sherlock had learned sign language early on. Mostly to have a way to speak privately without the servants understanding but also because it was an important language and useful to know. 

“How did you meet Daddy?” Joey asked, his eyes were still a little guarded and he was glued to Greg’s side but he’d always been curious.

“I met Greg through my little brother Sherlock.”

Greg had to scramble with his other arm to keep Rick from falling off his lap and the sofa as he signed in excitement, practically flailing his hands moved so fast. He looked over at Joey and saw him roll his eyes and just couldn’t keep from smiling. Rick might not speak out loud right now but he was still a chatterbox. 

“Yes my brother is very much alive and very much okay. Yes he will be your official uncle once your Daddy and I get married. Sherlock never stops working on new experiments but he has been a little bit busy being a Daddy himself since he and his John have just had a baby.” Mycroft answered each and every question patiently, amused that Sherlock had such a fan in this little boy.

Rick’s hands stalled at that and he gaped, making Greg chuckle just a bit before anticipating where his second child’s mind was heading. Greg knew his chickens, so to speak.

“No not adopted. Yes John and Sherlock are both men and yes the baby is biologically both theirs.” He watched Rick’s eyes narrow then grinned as Joey just handed his brother a pencil and a notepad so Rick could write down questions and subjects to look up the answers to. He drew Joey in and gave all three of his kids a little squeeze. “I missed you all so much.”

“We’ve missed you too Daddy.” Joey hugged Greg’s side. “Mummy has been away a lot. Mrs. Dunlap is nice I suppose but she always want to watch grown-up shows on the telly and she doesn’t like Ricky sleeping in my room.” Since Rick didn’t speak he couldn’t let anyone know if he was feeling bad or having a bad dream. When Rick was sleeping in his room Joey could keep an eye on him and take care of him. Rick was real smart but he was still only four, Joey was the big boy, he was six after all.

Greg let Rick go to rub Joey’s back, “We’ll move a second bed into your room here for now, what do you think of bunk beds later?” 

Rick’s opinion was obvious, he started bouncing.

Joey grinned, bunk beds was cool, yeah he was all for that idea. He exchanged smiles with his brother and nodded at his dad. “Please, bunk beds sound wicked.” It would both be fun and allow him to watch over his little brother.

Mycroft made a mental note to get bunk beds arranged as soon as possible. He wanted to fix all rooms for the kids but he didn’t know what furniture they would bring from their old home. The most important thing was that they would feel comfortable and at home here.

“That’s what we’ll do then,” it lifted his spirits to see Rick punch the air. He knew that reality would intrude again soon enough but for now he was intent on seeing to it they smiled a bit. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

Rick shook his head and made a few signs, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“Well if your Aunt Mallory forgot to feed you we’ll certainly do it.” Mycroft managed to push down the anger he felt that the woman had just piled the children into the car and drove them here as soon as Anthea showed. It was disgusting, they were her nephews and niece, how could she not care for them even in a basic level? “What are you in the mood for? Omelette? Waffles? Hot chocolate and toast?”

Before the boys could jump on the last one, Greg made a negative sound, “No chocolate this early kids,” He gave Mycroft a smile, “Sorry, should have warned you. Big rule is no refined sugar before noon, and I saw that young man,” he looked at Rick who had made a sign behind his back, “I don’t know what it said but I can guess the tone. How about waffles with fresh fruit and cream?”

Holly tugged on his collar.

“Yes sweetie?”

“Eggs pease?” She blinked big brown eyes at him.

“You’ve got it princess.”

“Ank oou.”

He got up, “Well shall we move to the kitchen then?”

Mycroft smiled and stood, continuing to answer all of Rick’s questions as he signed them. The boy was so curious, wanting to know absolutely everything. It was charming and Mycroft didn’t mind answering as best he could.

Joey held on to Greg’s shirt as they moved to the kitchen. This house was so different from what he was used to. Shiny but homey all at once. He wasn’t stupid, with Mummy gone he knew they would be living here from now on, he just hadn’t decided if he would like it or not.

“Me and Rick can still have waffles instead of eggs though right?” 

He ruffled his eldest’s hair, “Of course. That good for you Rick?” He looked over to see an excitable nod of agreement. “Four orders of waffles, one order of eggs it is then.” He set Holly on the counter, moved a chair over by her for Joey to stand on, and got the ingredients for breakfast together. The kids usually ‘helped’ with age appropriate tasks like stirring, pouring measured ingredients into bowls and what have you. Rick though, was very much absorbed in talking to Mycroft so he’d be working with two pint-sized sous chefs rather than three this time.

Considering the answers Mycroft was giving and Rick’s animated expression, that was more than fine for him. He got into the business of making breakfast with a smile.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock studied John, who was watching their son, awake and cooing at his mobile. His lover had just gotten off the phone with Lestrade and had moved immediately to just watch Benjamin. Something was obviously going on with one or more of Lestrade’s children as they would have arrived this morning. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t understand some people Sherlock, I really don’t.” John looked down at Benjamin. “Rick stopped talking after Cynthia made sure that Greg wasn’t allowed to see the children. Hasn’t said a word, relying completely in sign language. How can she let a four year old get that troubled and not do everything in her power to help? She didn’t even take the time to learn how to sign, just let her six year old son translate for her. It makes me sad and angry all at the same time. The children should always come first, no matter what sort of feelings there are between the parents.”

“Well I have always maintained that Cynthia is substandard and suffers from a chemical imbalance in the hormones involved in maternal instinct.” He moved up just behind John, chest brushing against his shoulders as they both watched Benjamin entertain himself staring at the mobile. His insult masked the anger that sparked to life hearing that Rick had ceased to speak. It was _wrong_ on some fundamental level.

“It’s apparent that something was very wrong with her. One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but thank goodness that the children will be with Greg and Mycroft from now on. They will be loved and cared for much better there.” John felt Sherlock’s body heat as they admired their little miracle and just that closeness helped to soothe the upset he felt after speaking with Greg. “Apparently Rick is very impressed with the fact that Mycroft can sign though and he’s been asking a million questions about you.” John turned his head and smiled at his lover.

Sherlock preened, “Good to know I’m memorable. Such a pity he’s impressed with Mycroft though,” he chuckled at John’s reprimanding elbow, “Did Lestrade say how Joseph and Holly are doing?”

“Joey seem to be doing fine, very protective of his younger siblings. My guess it’s because he sort of took over after Greg when he was forced out. Holly is so young, very attached to Greg but that’s no wonder.” John had to chuckle a little at Sherlock’s preening. “I think the kids are going to be alright once they get a chance to settle and get to know Mycroft better.”

“Yes they should be. Children are remarkably resilient and my brother is a terrible mother hen. Joey has always been protective of Rick and that was extended to Holly when she came into the world. He is a miniature Lestrade in many ways, if perhaps somewhat excessively serious for a six year old.” Sherlock rested his hands on John’s waist, just above his hip bones. “Holly had not yet shown her personality appreciably beyond a tendency for remaining quiet and watching events around her when I last saw them.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Harry used to say I was like that too when I was little. Quiet and watching the world around me, not making a move until I was sure about what I was doing.” John shrugged lightly. “I guess I had _trust issues_ even back then.” 

He rubbed his thumbs in little circles under John’s ribs, “Understandable though I do rather think you were simply made to appear harmless so the fools of the world underestimate you.”

John snickered. “Oh yes, I had a whole master plan worked out as a baby. Not everyone has your massive brain. I was just quiet...By my teens I’d grown out of it though, my teachers despaired that they couldn’t get me to shut up or question everything they taught.”

Sherlock looked inordinately proud, “Good for you.” His lips brushed John’s temple. 

“Mmm, I thought you might approve of that.” John grinned and shifted on his toes so he could press his lips against Sherlock’s before going back to admiring Benjamin. “Look at him Sherlock, how much he’s grown already. Every day he learns something new...It’s incredible how much I love him, love you both.”

Sherlock’s arms wound around John, “He has inherited his Papa’s ability to be utterly fascinating,” he rested his chin on top of John’s head. He did still find John fascinating, always unpredictable yet so...normal. 

“More likely his Daddy’s brilliance and ability to entrance me with a single glance.” He spoke the truth too, he had been entranced by Sherlock, enough to kill a man for him less than forty-eight hours after their first meeting. John would always do anything for Sherlock, it was as certain to him as the fact that the sun rose in the east every morning.

“Why not both?” 

As if he knew he was being talked about, the baby looked at them and made a demanding squawk.

“Both sound brilliant to me.” John reached down to pick Benjamin up, holding him so he was facing outwards so that he could see his surroundings and his Daddy. John knew that Benjamin liked to watch over his little kingdom of 221B Baker Street. 

“Both _are_ brilliant,” his eyes were warm on his little family, a smile settling comfortably on his face.

John held Benjamin up so he could pat at Sherlock’s face with spit sticky baby hands and smile toothlessly up at his Daddy. John smiling too and even Sentinel added to the happiness of the moment by sitting at their feet, tail thumping against the floor happily. This, his family, it was heaven on earth and everything John could wish for come true.

**_Finis._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the end of this story. Thank you so much to those who have read it and left such wonderful feedback. We appreciate it so much. We chose to leave the ending a little open so that if we choose to we can revisit this world and see what's going on with our families. Again thank you for coming with us on this journey.


End file.
